


Gathering Threads

by lestericalphan



Series: The Wolves Of The World [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Multi, PBB, PBB2016, Phandom Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestericalphan/pseuds/lestericalphan
Summary: Miloria is changing: Louise is now finding herself in charge of a kingdom, Dan has been having strange dreams about a boy who later shows up on his doorstep along with the King of the East Crest, and Jack is now having to look after both Darcy and her Mother.But magic is stirring again after centuries asleep and the Gods seem to be contently watching as power shifts from head to head.This phanfic set in an alternative Game of Thrones style universe featuring Louise, Jack, Dodie and more is (hopefully) going to have you on the edge of your seat as the Wolves of the World series begins.Artist: @galaxyhowells on tumblrBeta: @transdimensional-void on tumblrWARNINGS: Extreme violence, language, death, child abuse, torture, and transphobia mention.ART FOR THE FIC: http://lestericalphan.tumblr.com/post/153873941188/he-had-been-the-boy-in-his-purple-coast-dream-for





	1. Louise

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome this year’s passion project for me! It’s been a lot of writing and stress but thankfully Sara, my wonderful beta, kept me afloat through the whole thing. 
> 
> You can find the art for this fic here:
> 
> And Map of Miloria, Map of the Riverlands, and a Character List on my Tumblr here: 
> 
> Otherwise enjoy the story!

The moment flashed by, and after it was over nothing would be the same again. It was just a small reach across the bed to where her husband’s hand should be in the growing light cascading through the thin curtains that drifted slightly in the cold breeze. The window was only slightly ajar, an uncommon sight in Izbalia, what with the constant snow. The morning frost was creating little delicate patterns across the windowpane while the birds were starting their morning song. As the sun peeked over the edge of the icy mountains to the north of the castle, the ice made the light seem even brighter and more glorious than it was.

Louise’s hand closed on nothing but a cold bed and duvet, the dent in the mattress a dent in her own little world. She rolled over, turning round to face the emptiness beside her, brushing her tangled, golden curls away from her face. Her bleary eyes settled upon the covers which had been hastily thrown back, and she rubbed them just to make sure she wasn’t still asleep. Her husband wasn’t in the bed with her, and the bed now felt cold and empty without his presence.

With a sharp intake of breath, she sat up, and her cold blue eyes flitted around, searching for any sign of life across her grand bedroom. The only life was the robin sitting on her windowsill that left as soon as she noticed it, spreading its wings and abandoning her.

She shuffled out of bed, treading lightly on the cold flagstones beneath her feet. She walked over to the window and glanced out for a second, then closed it quietly. Her long nightgown of blue silk with little cross-stitched pink flowers fell gracefully down her body, accentuating her curves, fluttering in the slight breeze. She wasn’t fat or thin but curvaceous and healthy. A look of puzzlement appeared on her young face as she turned to search for any sign of him, but all his things were gone, from his sword to his fine robes. All that was left was his pin with the city’s crest on, lying on the bedside table.

The door to the room creaked open, and a maid ducked in with her head bowed before she spotted Louise standing by the window. She curtsied before closing the door behind her gently.

“Good morning, my Lady. How are you on this fine spring day? Up nice and-”

“Where is my husband?” Louise interrupted, not moving from the window but turning to look towards the maid, concern apparent in her face.

"I’m afraid I have not seen him since last night when he entered the bedroom with you, my Lady,” came the clear and professional response.

“Are you certain?” Louise implored.

“Positively, my Lady,” the maid assured, not blinking in the stare of her mistress.

“Has he gone hunting? Maybe he went on a morning gallop round with Thomas.” Louise smiled fondly, turning back towards the frosted window while attempting to laugh off her concern. That's clearly where he was, she reasoned, off chasing rabbits with his cousin, dashing through the foliage on his horse.

“Thomas is still asleep, my Lady,” the maid interjected, “And no horses nor breakfast were called for.”

“Go send someone to see if his horse is still here then, or if anyone has seen him,” Louise said curtly while beginning to pace back and forth in front of the window, impatient for the maid to leave. The maid curtsied again before hurriedly leaving, closing the door behind her.

Louise sat down on the mattress where her husband should have been, idly tracing little circles in the sheets. She looked at the pin he had been given as the Guardian of the City, on the bedside table, shining silver in the light. It was emblazoned with the symbol of the city and Louise’s own family crest of the Snofrid’s, the three Snofrid Mountains. She leaned over and picked it up, holding it up to the light for inspection. She twirled it delicately in her fingers before placing it back where it had been, just as two more maids entered to assist her in getting dressed and ready for the day.

“No, it can wait until news of my husband…” Louise murmured, her face falling as she stood up and looked down at the ground.

“My Lady, you must have breakfast, and I’m afraid you cannot go down in your night wear,” a young, brown-haired maid insisted softly, slightly mortified at the idea of her Lady doing something like that.

“Yes, my Lady, you must get dressed. Which outfit shall it be today?” the second of the two said, opening the wardrobe doors to expose masses of brilliantly-coloured outfits to the light.

“If I must, the yellow dress with a corset, with the light gold detailing,” the Lady sighed, looking up at them as they hurried to fetch it and prepare it and she herself started pacing. “He always liked me in that dress.”

“If I might say, my Lady,” the younger one began as she closed the wardrobe doors behind the the second maid, “I don’t think this one suits you.”

“Evelyn!” the elder admonished, throwing her a deadly look before continuing, “You can’t say that to the Queen of Izbalia! My apologies, my Lady. She was too bold.” As she turned back to face Louise, a worried look marred her features. But all the Queen did was smile.

“It’s quite alright. We are all entitled to opinions,” she replied quickly. Honestly, she was quite happy to hear someone offer their honest opinion, whereas most others were too afraid of her as the Queen to do anything but agree with whatever she said. “Now please get me dressed so I can go down for breakfast,” she said with an edge, putting an end to the maids’ silent glares towards each other. A cold, blank look settled into her face as she paused in her pacing, ready to be dressed.

A Queen can never act out of place. Even if the circumstances were dire, she must hold her calm and maintain a stainless image. This was something Louise had learnt a long time ago but had never been able to put into action properly. Any inner turmoils, secrets and emotions were projected on her face, and there wasn’t even any point trying to school her expressions into a calm facade anymore. However, today she had a cold face with no expression shining through as she walked into the large hall where breakfast was already being served.

Louise almost floated to her seat as people turned to stare at her. She sat alone at her table positioned above everyone else on a platform, all the beady eyes of her Court gazing at her. In her mind, she resented her husband’s decision to sit above everyone else. Why had her husband designed it that way again? So he didn’t have to stare at the people lower than himself? Or was it that he wanted to feel important? Louise didn’t understand, would possibly never now. Not that it mattered at the moment as she stared sullenly down at the fish she had been served, pushing the dead creature limply around her plate.

The grand hall had become Louise's least favourite place in the house after her husband had married her. He had taken away the joy of meeting new people and placed himself and his family on a pedestal, quite literally. The room that had once been warm and welcoming felt cold and lonely, shut off from any other people even though they were all in the same place. There were already whispers flying round the room as she continued not eating, staring down at nothing in particular.

The long, oak benches were filling quickly as the castle slowly started to wake up on this crisp, cold morning, people trudging through the grand doors at one end while still rubbing their eyes. This was normal, but it was slightly colder than usual, so most were dressed in thick clothing and some even in coats of wolf fur. They all drifted around the room until settling at one of the long tables. Louise was still alone at her raised table, shadows in her eyes as she waited for news of her husband. People were already noticing that she wasn’t eating and was seated alone, although they did have the courtesy to be discreet about it. Louise briefly questioned herself. Why was she here again? It was at that moment a small person came tumbling through one of the side doors near her, giggling happily as she almost tripped over her nearly-full-length snow-white dress hemmed with polar bear fur. She clambered up the dozens of steps to the raised table and reached her small, pudgy arms around her mother from the side of her chair, looking up at her with a twinkle in her eyes and a brazen smile.

“Hello, Darcy dear.” She smiled softly, looking down at the giggling four-year-old. She was like her mother in so many ways -- golden locks messily out of place, bright blue dazzling eyes -- but she had her father's nose and clumsiness. Darcy laughed again as she released her hold from Louise’s waist, almost falling over her dress again. Luckily, a well-dressed Lord had come up the stairs behind her and caught the small, happy child before she fell.

“Darcy, honestly, when will you learn to stand on your own two feet?” he scolded gently, patting down her dress before the small, blonde child happily tottered off to her seat next to Louise. He straightened up, smiling at Louise while brushing his dirty blonde hair away from his face. He had already washed, shaved and dressed for the day. He was Lord Jack Farrowhead, Louise’s closest friend. Although his job was as counsellor and the Queen’s sworn protector, there wasn’t much to protect her from, so he mostly looked after Darcy as a favour, even though he still tried to look professional. Today he was dressed in his blue velvet jacket, despite the hall being colder than normal.   

He was usually here in the mornings to keep Louise company, having been her best friend for most of her life. It was at times like this she needed him most. Her face already felt like crumpling under the quick but noticeable sly glances being sent her way from the floor, but his presence was all she needed to keep her composure.

“I can take care of myself, Jack!” Darcy huffed as she set about guzzling down her food, ignorant to her Mother’s clear worry.

"Morning, Jack," she began, forcing her face into a smile.

"Good morning, my Lady Louise," Jack said. He knew that she found the “my Lady” honorifics funny when coming from him. However, when she didn’t laugh, he straightened himself up, and his face settled into something resembling discomfort before he sat down next to Darcy to help the bumbling four-year-old with her breakfast. "How are you?" he asked over Darcy’s head with concern in his voice.

"Truthfully," Louise said before whispering to him, "awful. Worried and concerned don't even begin to cover it. I'll tell you later. I can't stand another mouthful." She pushed her chair back and stood up, leaving most of her uneaten fish as her daughter tried in vain to de-bone her own.

Louise never actually ended up telling Jack what she felt like that morning, or at least not on that day. She sat in her quarters for most of the daylight hours, and it didn’t take long for a maid to inform her that her husband’s horse was gone and a search party had been sent out. Louise locked the doors to her chambers and pulled the blackout curtains, keeping only the massive skylight open so she could speak with the two sun Gods. She began chanting in their tongue, trying to communicate her wishes as she lit the spiritual candles, following the rituals she had been taught in order to communicate with the celestial deities.

She rid herself of the tight corset and dress, slipped on her thin, blue silk prayer dress, and carefully arranged the beautiful ceremonial flowers from the South, removing herself from all of the splendor to be alone and honest with herself and the Stars she placed her trust in. Returning to the elements that were her Gods.

The room was empty and calm, and soon the only sound she could hear was her own voice bouncing off the walls and out into the never-ending sky.

It had been so long since she was alone, she had almost forgotten the power she had. The two suns were dimming when she finally stopped her ritual and opened the curtains to look upon the sky that could hold her sign. There were no nights in the land of Miloria, of which Louise’s kingdom of Izbalia occupied the northernmost reaches, but the sky dimmed twice a day to a sort of twilight. The next day would tell her which star held the power of her fate. Louise’s maid from her childhood, Ramona, had taught her everything she knew about the signs of the powerful skies:

“Red skies mean we are in the power of Needle, who is more powerful and violent. We must offer him a sacrifice. Otherwise we would be struck. However, blue skies mean we are in Thread’s balance. We must praise those days where we are in his protection, for he holds us all together in harmony.”

All Louise could do was watch the suns move across the dim sky and wait for the next day to see her and her husband's fate. The candles had melted down to stumps, and the flowers seemed to have drooped. She sat by her window that was shaded by evergreens, wrapped in covers as she watched the birds settle down in their small nests as distant, glowing lights appeared faintly, dotted across the sky.

“We are all family, Louise,” Ramona would say. “Just some of us would rather be under the Needle than below the Thread.” Louise wasn’t sure if she would ever understand what she had meant by that.


	2. Dan

The light spilled through the tiny window in the roof, down upon his sleeping face. In their burrow of a house, Dan was curled up on his bed, wrapped in soft velour from the East Crest, trying to escape his boring life. Of course, it wouldn’t last. As the red light started to flood through the window and the sound of his family getting up disturbed his sleep, he stirred, grumbled, and then rolled over and pulled the covers around his head, moaning softly as he started to wake up and left whatever dream he had been in. They had been blessed with an actual night time for the first time in weeks, but now as Needle rose through the sky, Dan knew it was probably going to return to day and dusk rather than day and night. With two suns watching over them there was never really any time for night. 

There were rapid knocks at the door before it was opened, and a small woman entered in a dirt-covered dress. Her long, brown hair was tied back into a plait, and she carried a candle in one hand. She slowly made her way across the floor, coming to sit down on a chair next to Dan’s bed. She carefully placed the candle on a small table next to her before gently feeling a tuft of his soft brown hair that stuck out from the covers between her fingers. She paused, looking at him with fondness in her kind gaze, before kissing him on the forehead which was still peeping out from beneath the covers, and then finally shaking him softly.

“It’s morning, Dan. You need to get ready quickly. The morning’s work needs to be done, and a sacrifice is needed as well,” she whispered, her voice as soft as her personality and caring face. 

“I’ll be up soon,” Dan replied, rolling over to face away from the light, whinging. He’d forgotten it was the start of Needle’s new cycle, a dangerous time when a sacrifice was needed to ensure the people’s safety.

“Now, come on, Dan. You can’t avoid your duties. You may not have to work the land, but you still must learn the ways of a warrior and leader.”

“But it’s just do that and do this. It’s not leading at all; it’s just glorified following,” Dan muttered, emerging from his covers to turn to face his mother. 

“To lead you must first learn to follow.” His mother smiled before getting up and leaving with a final ruffle of his hair, closing the door gently behind her.

It didn’t take long for Dan to get out of bed and get dressed, buttoning up his small jacket. It was in no way near as fancy as the outfits from the Purple Coast, with their satins, silks and velvet pieces. All he had was his brown leather jacket. The most expensive thing he owned was his pin which told everyone he was part of the court of Riverland, the spiral of bronze meant to represent the water and importance of the realm --  not that it really was important, Dan thought, being just a large network of farms providing for the rich.

Dan stared in his small mirror before heading out, checking everything was in place. As he was meant to be a leader, despite what he thought of it, Dan wanted to create the impression of professionalism, even though he was only sixteen and in the eyes of many, too young to lead. He wasn’t the Main leader of Riverland, luckily. That title belonged to his father, Damian Damark of Riverland. He was considered a great and humble leader, and Dan was often forecast to be the next great leader as a result.

It was this great leader Dan saw snoring every night and tucking into porridge every morning, almost spilling it down his chin while he spoke to his other three children. Quirina, Fay and Pomia were already listening to their father’s great tales from his youth as he shovelled porridge into his mouth between breaths when Dan came into the kitchen for his breakfast. 

Like most houses in the area, the house was built half above the ground and half below, with sleeping quarters in the ground and communal areas like the Living room and Kitchen above the ground in a thatched cottage, marking the location of the house so it was at least clear to foreigners that there was a house there at all. This morning, the Kitchen was bathed in the red glow creeping in through the window, not that it put a damper on breakfast at all. 

“... and that’s when I jumped on the bear’s back and wrestled him to the ground,” Damian was saying animatedly, “And I took my trusted Rusty, and I plunged it into the great behemoth the bear’s chest, and blood went everywhere!” he exclaimed, the three little ones squealing in terror at the image, morbid fascination shining on their faces as they willed their father to go on. Dan skulked in, sitting next to his father as Damian picked up Pomia, the youngest of his children, and placed them on his lap.

“Morning, Dan,” his father said in his gruff voice as he swallowed his mouthful of porridge.

“Hello, father,” Dan replied, continuing to look down at his breakfast, picking at the bread and butter quietly.

“Good sleep?” Damian asked, an arm wrapped around Pomia’s waist.

“As good as it can be,” came Dan’s emotionless reply.

“Good,” he smiled as he started to bounce Pomia on his lap, their silver hair bouncing up and down with the gesture. 

“I had another dream about the Purple Coast,” Dan said abruptly. He spoke quietly, but at his words, the others fell silent, making his voice sound far louder than it was. He sighed in his mind. Why was it whenever he was present the whole room went silent like he had done something wrong?

“Was it just the same?” his father asked, breaking the unexpected silence as he removed Pomia from his lap and shooed the little ones away. Turning to Dan, he eyed his son curiously. Dan waited until the door closed behind the little ones then continued. 

“Yeah, except I was with someone this time. We were near the Capital, but we were on the purple sands watching Thread rise above the water. All I can remember is that he had black hair, cut like mine, but that’s it.” Dan sighed, finally looking up at his father’s face. His father said nothing for a few heartbeats, before offering his opinion.

"Think nothing of it for now, son,” he said thoughtfully. “If anything, it will be revealed in time, but now we have to make our sacrifice for the day and then it's off to our work."  He wiped some porridge from the rim of his bowl as he stood up, straightening his own leather jacket. "Come on. We have to pick the bloody goat to sacrifice."

By the time the sacrifice was done and the elegant stone altar cleared, it was already midday, and the Needle was high above in the sky. Dan and his father arrived at the Eridanus Hall, one of the only structures above ground due to its use and importance, as no visitors wanted to be forced underground. Nearly all the housing in Riverland was underground, to make more room for animals and crops to thrive, even though the stables were half buried so the horses could sleep in darkness.

The Eridanus Hall was like any other building in the city, being the only three-level tall building. It could be seen from any point in the city and had some of the finest architecture of any building in the Riverlands. Not only did it have a stunning outer layer, but it had an inner beauty too, with its rare hardwood walls and stained glass windows that constantly cast beautiful patterns across the stone floor. Its roof was made of glass since nobody slept there, and it meant the people inside were always under the watch of at least one God. This also made it the perfect place for trials and ceremonies to take place. 

Damian opened the door to the Eridanus Hall, striding in towards the Council's quarters at the back. Dan, less bothered about their lateness, sulked behind his father, closing the door behind him before dragging his feet towards the Council's quarters, past the rows of pews facing the small table at the front of the hall where his family often addressed their people. 

Not that it mattered to Dan, all this “Lady this” and “Lord that (or Lord ass).” He didn't even want to work the land as eagerly as the rest of his country wanted to. Honestly, he thought, who voluntarily would want to work all day long with horse shit anyway? Some days he doubted the sanity of the people in Riverland. Even the long, boring meetings with the council couldn't excite him enough for him to want to rule. Who cared if that person needed more cattle to plough his fields or if this person wanted more shelters to milk their cows. All Dan could dream of was to leave or fight or somehow live a more interesting life than this. 

As he finally made it to the judgemental presence of the seated and waiting council, he was already daydreaming about nodding off as council member Yale started the day's issues of discussion. Yale had a low, boring drone of a voice, almost as miserable as his beard, but he at least tried to make an excited remark about the weather now and then. Today he’d mentioned how he was sure that there might be the yearly rain next period, not that it mattered in Riverland where they literally had rivers everywhere. Dan sighed internally for the umpteenth time. It was always the same hot, dry weather, which he had to endure in his hard and uncomfortable chair, with the same dream floating round his head. 

As his long, unnecessary speech came to a close, Yale sat down and Damian stood up, beginning to speak and commanding attention with his powerful voice.

"I have received very exciting news only this morning from a runner. We will be welcoming the people of the Court of the East Crest and the rulers of the Purple Coast as guests. We must prepare for the Gallaways immediately, as they are used to the many luxuries we do not have here. It is unconfirmed how many we will be looking after, but the Needle Ulric and his Thread Cecilia will be present." The room broke into hushed whispers, despite there only being a total of five people present, as speculations began to rise.

"What are the reasons for visiting, if I may ask?" Reginald of the Reeds questioned, his bouncy red moustache bobbing up and down with his words like a sailing boat on rough seas.

"I’m afraid I do not know. Most likely they are traveling south to the Pavo Wood Fortress while avoiding the Woods themselves and are also checking up on us here, but unfortunately I cannot be sure," Damian replied, his brows furrowed. 

"They have children, don't they, who are the right age for marriage?" Yale thought out loud, throwing a look towards Damian.

"Oh, yes, they do, don’t they? Three young ones including the future Needle, Adrian Gallaway, and his brother and sister, Lyra and Philip," Reginald answered thoughtfully. 

"Are you suggesting you're going to try and marry me off and Quirina too," Dan finally spoke up in a deadpan tone. He looked around the table at the three faces, an incredulous and unimpressed look colouring his own face. 

"Well, of course, Daniel! You are nearly 16 now and have been sitting here your whole life. It's time to have you starting a family of your own," Andrew of the West Bank insisted. 

"Yes, Dan, but not Quirina. Phillip already is engaged. You can't be a ruler of the Riverland without a lady by your side," his father agreed. 

"I can if I bloody want to, as I'll be ruler of the Riverland," Dan mumbled under his breath. 

“Moving on,” continued Dan’s father, either not hearing his son’s mumbled commentary or choosing to ignore it, “We must make preparations for accommodation and food. Yale, can you go find the best animals in the area for food, and we can make a pen near the hall for all the creatures, as they will be near where most meals will be taking place. Andrew, we need accommodation for them, maybe an underground home, but you know these royals. If they don’t want to sleep in our finest hole, prepare some rooms to East Coast standards. Reginald, we will need extra servants unless they have brought their own, especially if there is to be a feast. I might be in charge, but I don’t like slaves, so volunteers if you can find them. We can pay them nicely,” Damian commanded, ushering them out the door to make haste. “They could be here at a moment’s notice.” There was then only Damian at the head of the long, dark wood table and Dan near the bottom, leaning on the table, head in his hands. 

“I don’t want to hear any of your protests now,” Damian sternly ordered. “There is much work to be done, and all of your usual chores and lessons on top of it. Run along back home and tell your mother to prepare you and the others. I am sure she doesn’t want the royals seeing her in her working clothes.”

“Pomia as well?” Dan asked in a politely-bored tone. Pomia was one of the few and rare genderless humans, someone who possessed not one or the other human genitals and other odd features like silver hair. They may have looked like a slightly strange little girl, but in some areas they could be killed for being “useless” and “odd.” Most people would hide away their genderless child. They generally got the same treatment as bastards, rejected by most of society.

“Yes, they may be genderless, but they are still my child, and in the capital they treat them with respect as do we. Now go,” he said dismissively as Dan stood up and left to wrestle with the itchy robes he never liked. 


	3. Jack

It was early the next day when Louise finally emerged from her quarters. Jack had tried talking to her all through the night, knocking on the door, even looking to see if he could scale the window to her room. He had put a confused Darcy down a few hours ago, and it wasn’t long after Louise’s retreat that news of her husband's missing horse arrived, and it was later still when someone came in from the roads saying they had seen him riding fast round the Nackati Path towards the Purple Coast. There was no way to put it nicely -- he had run out on her, abandoned her, left her alone as he rode out to who knew where.

When Louise finally opened her door, Jack was the first to know and come in to her room. She was pale and in her silken nightie, with tear tracks staining her cheeks, her usually neat curls wild and out of place as she closed the door behind him. She did not say any greetings but rather just lay down on the bed, curling up in the covers. Jack sat down beside her, moving her hair away from her face with one hand. She rolled away so she was facing away from him. The only things she could see were her ornately decorated walls and her pure white sheets as Jack rubbed her back through the covers soothingly.

"He left me. Didn't he?" She spoke in nothing more than a whisper. She didn't even wait for an answer. "And now,” she took a shuddering breath, “I’m all alone."

"Now, Louise, you know that's not true. You have me and Darcy..."

"And my loneliness," she cut him off, rolling over to look up at Jack.

"Louise..." Jack said calmly, looking her dead in the eye. "You know you are not alone. And if you were, well, I wouldn't be here now, would I?" he reasoned as he gently pushed some of her curls out of the way of her face, brushing her forehead gently.

She sniffled again, not deigning to answer her lifelong friend, sitting up slightly. "But now what's going to happen? Who's going to run the kingdom? Who's going to look after Darcy? Who's going to protect us if the Mark tries to invade again? And you and me know they bloody will when they found out what's happening.”

"I think you know the answer to those questions yourself. You, Louise. You were trained to rule, and you don't need to rush into a marriage, plus both I and your attendants will help you look after Darcy. You're just out of practice, that's all. You hated a lot of the ways your husband ruled, and now you have the opportunity to right them," Jack reassured and encouraged her, passing her his hankie from his jacket pocket to dry her eyes on as she had started crying a little, not that Louise would ever admit to it later. "We can have a council meeting to confirm it, and soon Izbalia will be on its feet, bolder and brighter than ever. I believe in you, okay? And you know it."

“We can have a council meeting,” she said quietly, and Jack looked at the floor and nodded solemnly, not trusting himself to reply.

Jack, mind at a halt, stood up intending to leave when Louise grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug on her bed. He could sense nothing had really changed about Louise despite losing her husband, her tears couldn't have washed out her smell of lavender and smoke. She still was the same Louise breathing in and out, her body hot like a roaring fire against his own cold one. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there with his best friend, but he reminded himself that he would always be there for her. He just hoped Louise knew it as much as he meant it.

When Jack finally let go to stand up he could see that same childish grin she wore from when they were children together, although her brilliant blue eyes still seemed slightly dulled -- her smile beaming out and looking excited for the adventure ahead. She would struggle for a while without her husband, but she would be soon back on her feet. Jack was sure of it. He smiled back at her before turning to leave her alone to get dressed for the council meeting that was sure to follow.


	4. Dan

It was another five full days before the Gallaway family arrived, just before breakfast when the sky was as blue as the sea. A token good sign for the people of Riverland, Dan thought as he was woken quickly by his mother telling him to get up and dressed. 

He didn’t even have time to have breakfast before he was ushered out into the crisp daylight, the sun just rising. Stood next to Damian and with Pomia on his other side, he felt out of place. They were dressed in their regal white silk, the twisted piece of silver placed upon their head singling them out. All Dan was wearing was a slightly fancier version of his usual wear, a bit stiff from the freshness of it. 

The sea of horses and tents that covered the fields outside Dan’s home was unlike anything Dan had ever seen, carrying everything from supplies to swords and warriors. The Gallaways were arriving somewhere in the middle of the commotion, although Dan had yet to be able to see them. It was like a bustling sea of activity, with Dan and his siblings standing awkwardly to the side for several minutes until a group of people approached and Dan suddenly had the urge to stand up taller.

It wasn’t as splendid as he had imagined it to be in his head, but he could immediately pick out all of them from their badges and from his father’s stories and descriptions.

First came Adrian, the tall brute of a boy dressed in flamboyant purple, a sash of gold round his front pinned on with a badge of the Needle, the fiery sun. His face was menacing, framed with sharp features. He was older than Dan by a few years, around 19 years old. His black Arabian stallion pushed forward with a confident snort to apparently match the temperament of his rider, while Adrian sat up straight and tall on his horse as if he was expecting people to cheer as he looked down on them from atop his saddle.

Behind him came his much calmer and quieter younger sister, Lyra, on her buckskin thoroughbred. She was dressed in blue traveling clothes, a matching piece of blue cloth around her shimmering golden hair held back with her Thread pin, the golden star. She was a beautiful person, and many of the women present seemed to be in awe of her features and her mellow, calm aura.

Finally there was the middle child, slightly older than Dan, maybe 17 or 18 years old on his roan appaloosa. He was dressed all in formal black, despite the weather, and had a hairstyle similar to Dan’s with the main difference his jet black hair. He rode unlike his siblings, presenting no shyness or arrogance. He didn’t have a pin, but he was easy to pick out from the knights, and he had donned a leather bracelet bearing his purple crest. His nervousness showed him to be different from the rest of his family; however, he did appear to be kind to his horse, who was happily whinnying as he bent forward to caress the steed’s shoulder. Dan realised with a start that he didn’t actually remember the man’s name and resolved to find out as soon as was appropriate.

Finally, the parents and rulers of the land came riding in beside each other. Each riding a bay Morgan horse and dressed in exuberant colours, they were the easiest to spot. Mason Gallaway wore red robes, his city pin and the spiked crown on his head. He had a way of looking down at everyone as if he had his head stuck up in the sky. Cecilia, his Thread, rode beside him clad in deep green, her own twisted silver tiara atop her head.

They finally positioned themselves in front of the Damarks and dismounted, as all the Damarks and citizens watching bowed their heads, balled fists place on their chest as was traditional at the Royals’ arrival. The Gallaways, once solidly grounded, all nodded their heads in acknowledgement, and everyone straightened to look at them, most making no secret of their sore backs as the black-haired middle son had taken an inordinately long time to dismount, as awkward as he seemed to be. He did at least, Dan noticed, have the grace to be sheepish about it.

“Hello, Damian, long time no see,” Mason greeted his vassal and friend, hugging him solidly.

“Welcome, Mason, I’ve been expecting your arrival for some time.” Damian smiled, hugging him back before breaking it off.

“Really? I suppose it has been a long time coming. Five weeks’ travel on bloody horseback actually,” he grunted, stretching. Mason spoke not with the language or posture you would expect from him but with a rough, harsh, deep voice. 

“Can I ask the purpose of your visit?” Damian politely asked.

“What can I not come see my old friend when I want to?”  Mason exclaimed, punching Damian ‘lightly’ in the arm. 

“Mason, this is my family,” Damian began, turning to introduce them one by one. “You know Serafina, my wife…”

“Yes, we met once again,” Mason said with a gruff sort of charm, kissing her hand as she offered it out. 

“Then we have Daniel, my eldest,” he continued.

“-Dan. It’s Dan…” Dan interrupted automatically, then fought the urge to cover his face as he felt his cheeks colouring when everyone turned to look at him in the awkward silence that followed.

“Bit of feist in this one, a bit like you back in the day.” Mason grinned, punctuating his own statement with a single heavy laugh at the end. Dan did feel some sort relief from that as he noticed his father awkwardly scratching the back of his neck with a self-conscious laugh.

“Then we have my two daughters, Quirina and Fay,” Damian said as he shifted the focus to Dan’s younger siblings beside him. “And finally we have the youngest, Pomia.” He presented them proudly, gesturing down at the lined up Damark children.

“Is that a genderless child?” Cecilia asked half out of curiousity, bending down to look closer at Pomia, her hair seemingly defying gravity as it stayed put under her silver tiara piece. 

“Yes, indeed they are,” Damian answered with an attempt at a proud smile. Dan still felt a little put out by this, despite the fact that he had long since resigned himself to the idea that Pomia would always get the most attention.

“Well, they are gorgeous, a blessing to your family,” she smiled, gently pinching Pomia’s cheek.

“Thank goodness you're from the Purple Coast and not from elsewhere, let’s just say. Otherwise you would have a very different answer,” Damian looked down, sighing.

“Yes, awful things they do down South, killing off their little treasures,” Mason agreed, putting forward his two cents about the harrowing subject. The conversation ground to an awkward halt as everyone contemplated the awful things rumoured to be going on at the Peak.

“Well, I think we should take this inside, should we not, Damian?” Dan’s mother piped up gently, sending a quick but effective glance to her husband.

“Yes, yes,” Damian hurriedly agreed with Dan’s mother, “Would you like to eat in the Eridanus Hall or our own humble home?” Damian said. 

“Don’t give me the humble home shit…” Mason started before he was cut off by his wife coughing. “We will just stick to the Eridanus Hall,” he insisted while ignoring the sharp, disapproving looks he was receiving from his wife for his crassness. 

Dan, for the most part of this awkward and hasty exchange had been surreptitiously glancing at the black-haired middle child, whose name he suddenly recalled: Phil. He had struck Dan as familiar as soon as he had ridden into view, despite having never met him before. It took another second before the brick dropped, and Dan felt a curl of anticipation and intrigue seed itself in his gut.

He had been the boy in his Purple Coast dream.


	5. Louise

“What do you mean he is still technically the King?” Louise shouted across the table at Iada Javok, her Head Councilor.

“I mean, my Queen, that we don’t know what has happened to him, so we have to enact Order 67 of the High Rule Act that both you and your King signed on your wedding day,”

Iada explained, shuffling in her large, wooden chair and flicking her grey hair out of her face.

“So what happens while he is missing? He can’t rule a kingdom while he has no contact with us,” Louise, who had only been in the meeting for five minutes, seethed. 

“It means you will temporarily be in charge until we receive proof or evidence that states he has broken the High Rule Act or decided to leave you,” she assured Louise, carefully polishing her spectacles to read the finer print of the document in front of her. 

The cosy council room was both big enough to fit the long table and small enough that it only required one smaller fireplace to heat the whole room. After all, it was always winter here in Izabalia, which was so far north that the seasons never really changed. Even still, Louise was hot under the collar of the dress she had selected this morning. 

“But it could be days or even years before we hear from him. How am I meant to put long-term measures in place if war breaks out and he is still ‘technically’ King?” Louise argued, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. 

“Order 67 does have some leniency, my Lady, when our country is placed in threat or if he has disappeared without trace for over a year,” Jack interrupted from his seat next to Iada, indicating a line in the document. 

“This is ridiculous.” Louise sighed, rubbing her forehead as her second headache started to form, the first having come after hours of crying.

“It is the law you signed,” Iada stated, staring her Queen dead in the eye. 

“Because I was forced into marriage,” Louise coldly replied, finally stopping her pacing.

“My Lady-”

“Don’t ‘my Lady’ me. In truth I never wanted to marry that Pavo Woods man. He was ten years older than me and a pig,” Louise fumed.

“I am sure we can find a better match next time round,” Thomas interjected, breaking the staring contest that had started between Louise and Iada. 

“There will be no next time round,” Louise concluded, finally sitting down in her ornate wooden chair and turning her attention to Thomas.

It was with a heavy sigh that Thomas realised it was his turn to be argued with, and the sound annoyed Louise. All these people seemed to believe her to be a child, ignorant to the way of ruling, but what they needed to understand was that if she was going to rule, she would do it her way. “But, your majesty-” 

“I was a peace offering to keep us from war,” Louise cut in. 

“I understand-”

“I am no peace offering and don’t intend to be again,” Louise shouted, the whole world suddenly still. “If I marry again, then it will be for love, not peace.”

“It is your duty to the people of this kingdom,” Iada snapped, finally losing her own temper, her old grey eyes almost glowing with disdain. 

Louise was still as she almost hissed her response, cold pure anger flowing through her veins and her headache worsening by the minute. “I will not have them ruled again by another southern pig. If you have something more productive to say, Iada, say it.”

“I am sure I can go over the finer points of Order 67 at another point,” Iada answered, all anger dispersed by Louise’s tone. The head of the council was finally done dealing with what she clearly viewed Louise as: an immature young girl. 

“And you, Zarithian?” Louise asked her trade adviser, who helped her maintain her successful and flourishing business transactions with the south. 

“I am a merchant. Trade is my specialty, not love. The trade is good with the south, so I am good. However, I would advise against any course that might...displease our trading partners,” Opal Zarithian purred, still casually leaning back in her chair and inspecting a fat, ruby ring round her slender, black hand. She was always uninterested in any topic unless she could see how it might affect trade. However, Thomas Snofrid, Louise’s cousin and best adviser, was not as relaxed. 

Thomas was not too tall or small but had a strong build and was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Even with his dirty blonde hair, you could still mistake him as being Louise’s brother, so alike were their mannerisms and looks. Both of them possessed the Snofrid curls and ice cold eyes, Thomas’ more grey and Louise’s more blue. With such similar features, it was a wonder more people didn’t mistake them for twins even; they were so close in age and friendship, they easily could have been. 

“Thomas, you wish to speak?” Louise observed as Thomas stopped fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves and looked Louise dead in the eye. Ice grey and ice blue eyes locked in place. 

“I would like to say one thing, Lou, while we are on the subject of the south. As much as you don’t wish to marry, the southern countries will not stay peaceful forever when they hear of the King's disappearance. When this gets out, there will be many foul rumours about whether you caused it, and no doubt they will want a peace offering or war. The balance between our kingdoms is very unstable.

“We need plans for if this does happen, as this could affect both trade and peace. I do not want to have to send people to war without a reason. Whether it be gold or Darcy’s future hand-”

“Thomas, enough. I will not sell my daughter for peace either,” Louise almost snarled, dismissing him. 

Thomas was not finished, though, as he continued, “I am simply being logical. It’s only a matter of time before we hear from Hazel-”

“We do not use the Butcher’s real name. Not now, not ever,” Jack interrupted before Louise could, his face plastered with shock.

After a moment, Louise finally thundered, “You keep your traitor sister out of this. You keep my daughter out of this. We are done for today,” and with that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door purposefully loud behind her.


	6. Dan

The Royal welcome feast was prepared, not that most of the Damark family wanted to attend. Thankfully it wasn’t only Dan who resisted being forced into dress wear, but both Pomia and Fay kicked up a fuss too. Only Quirina was truly excited to go, dressing as quickly as she could in her long, flowing blue gown. 

“I’ve been dying to wear this since I got it last year. Now finally I can be the Queen of the ball,” Quirina squealed in excitement as Serafina, their mother, finally finished threading her corset. 

“It’s only a dinner, dear. Don’t exaggerate the occasion,” Serafina sighed, releasing her daughter, who nevertheless went off spinning round the room.

“But there will be dancing!” Quirina interjected, stopping to admire herself in their mirror. The dress itself was carefully hand-sewn, covered with frills representing the rivers that gave the Riverland its name, and suited Quirina very well with her small but slender figure. On the bust was even the family crest, showing all foreigners who she was. 

“More likely fighting, but whatever keeps you happy,” Serafina smiled, standing up to grab Fay to force her into her dress robes. “Pomia what will you be wearing? A dress or a shirt... Or even a dress shirt?”

“I don’t want to go, Mum. All those clothes are itchy, and that fat man smelt funny,” Pomia complained, sitting down on the chair in their dressing room, the only room not regularly used in the Damark’s house. It was only used really by their Mother to store her many gowns but also held any other fancy outfits the family kept. 

“Like Ale and poop,” Fay added as she fought with her Mother trying to make her sit still while she started braiding her hair back. 

“Yes! Mummy I don't want to go if he is there,” Pomia insisted.

“He is our Needle, Pomia,” Serafina snapped, pulling a little too hard on Fay’s hair and making her squeal.  

“Exactly! He is a pain in our side,” Fay hissed at Pomia, making them both descend into giggles to the anger of their Mother. 

“Fay! Pomia! You are going, and that is that. And one more rude comment, and I will have you both working at the stables shovelling poop until you smell too,” Serafina shouted, making all the Damark siblings fall quiet. 

“So you think he smells like poop?” Pomia giggled, breaking the silence and sending all the siblings into fits of laughter. 

“Come on, Fay, don’t you want to look pretty?” Serafina sighed, finishing up Fay’s hair. 

“No, I want to look like a fighter. I don’t look like a fighter in a dress,” Fay fumed, looking at the dresses like they were about to devour her. 

“Stop making this hard, Fay. Just pick a colour, please. What about this lovely green dress,” Serafina tried to reason, pulling out one of Fay’s many dresses she had often sworn never to wear. Most had been slashed with a sword mysteriously by an unknown trespasser.  

“Dresses are for soft girls,” she huffed, trying to escape her Mother’s grip and reaching for her sword on the dresser. 

“If I let you wear a sword on your belt will you wear it?” Serafina offered, tired of her daughter’s fussing.

“Fine. But it has to be my sword. Not some wooden practice sword,” Fay grinned, lifting her arms up for the dress to be put on.

“Pomia?” Serafina asked as she helped her youngest child get dressed.

“The dress robes, Mummy,” Pomia finally said, giving in with the rest of the siblings. 

“See, I have such lovely, mature children, Daniel. Shame you couldn’t take a leaf out of their book,” Serafina hinted as she helped Pomia into their dress while Fay attached her sword to her belt. 

“But, Mum-” Dan started standing up, ready to try and escape if necessary. 

“No buts. I want the Heir of the Riverlands and Eridanus to at least look presentable. Would you prefer the Blue suit or the Green one or the Silver one? You have to bear the house colours, you know,” Serafina stated, not-so-subtly blocking the door.

“Silver,” Dan finally sighed, giving in as his Mother grinned and picked a suit out of the wardrobe. Then she offered to help him get dressed.

“Mum, I can get dressed myself, okay. I’m not a baby like Pomia or Fay,” Dan grunted, grabbing the clothes off his Mother and begrudgingly starting to take off his own.

“Don’t worry, Mum, me and Pomia don’t care about old smarty farty,” Fay giggled, leaving the room with her sword carefully secured and gleaming from her belt.

“Yeah, smarty farty,” Pomia repeated, strutting out the room behind their sister before tripping over the doorway.

“Oh honestly, Pomia. I’ll send Christopher to escort you while I deal with this mucky pup. Look, it’s one night, Dan, just please, for me,” Serafina begged, her eyes heavy and tired even though the evening had not even begun.

“Yes, Mother,” Dan agreed as Serafina, happy she had won this battle, closed the door behind her. 

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed this fancy since your christening,” Chris snorted as he greeted Dan at the door of his house. 

Chris was not only Dan’s best friend but also his Sworn Protector, sworn from birth to guard and fight for Dan -- not that he had ever taken his job very seriously. But that was Chris for you; he had always been very laidback. In fact, he was mostly very useless, apart from being an adviser, as Dan was both taller and a better swordsman than him. 

“Chris, you weren’t born yet when I was christened,” Dan mused as they started to walk towards the Eridanus Hall, which you could hear the music and laughter from even at this distance. 

“Yeah, well… you know what I mean,” Chris smirked, walking slightly in front of Dan with his hand in its usual relaxed position on his sword hilt. 

As they came closer and closer to the biggest above-ground building in all of the Riverlands, Dan couldn’t help fiddling with the buttons on his jacket as he asked Chris, “You’ll be by my side all evening?” 

“Absolutely. I’d be beaten otherwise. Duke’s orders, apparently. I think he’s scared someone might want to kill his only heir,” Chris smiled. Chris never really took anything seriously, apart from maybe food, but especially not his job. 

“I’m not his only heir, just the only male one,” Dan muttered as they finally reached the Eridanus Hall. 

The usually bare Eridanus Hall now stood decorated from its floors to its rafters in the royal colours of light blue and red, with streamers and banners bearing the coat of arms of both the Gallaways and the Damarks. Gone were the usual pews, which instead had been replaced with long, decoratively-carved tables full of food and goblets. Even the one table at the front had been pushed to the side in favour of two larger tables for the two families.

At the left table sat the Gallaways with the Needle and his Thread at the centre already tucking into a meal that must have taken days to prepare. Their children sat on either side of them, the oldest of whom already was sat next to what must be his bride to be. 

From lessons of the other families and alliances, this was clearly Colimba Sallow, Duke Oswald Sallow of the Mark’s eldest child and daughter, famed for both her beauty and temper. She was clearly engaged due to the traditional chain of red tulips, cornflowers and thorns wrapped round her neck, meant to show she was promised and to stop her engaging with anyone. These flowers were specially made to last years if necessary and would be cut from her neck come her wedding day in line with tradition of the Naturalism Religion followed in Pavo Woods and the Mark.

Luckily for Dan, he was a free man and didn’t have to worry about being engaged to such a brooding bride, he thought to himself as he headed towards the large table on his left, where his own family sat waiting for him to arrive before starting their meal. Not that Fay and Pomia weren’t already trying to sneak food off their plates. By the time Dan had sat down next to his father, his two youngest siblings had already shoved half their plates’ worth of food into their mouths. 

Chris, as his guard and sworn protector, sat just behind him on a small table for guards, tasting both Dan’s food and wine before he began. Not that it was often Dan had wine, but when he did, he had to admit he enjoyed the taste. 

Below them sat lords and ladies from both the court and the surrounding cities who had ridden in for the occasion and the Needle’s guard and servants who had arrived with the Royal family. 

For most of the meal, it was all very civil with music and chatter for background noise. However, by dessert, food was already being flung around the tables and onto the floor. Gods knew how it started, but it wasn’t long before it reached the higher tables, where a chicken leg was thrown at the Needle. After a tense moment of silence, though, he joined in, throwing some of his own food back, and then pandemonium broke out.

Practically all the men started brawling and throwing food, forcing many of the women to leave swiftly through the main entrance, and with no sight of Chris, who had probably joined in the fun, Dan was forced to run out the back door to his usual point of refuge. He wasn’t the only one, though, who had thought of that, for who else would be standing trying to open the door but Philip Gallaway. 

“I am afraid if you're trying to get out, it’s locked,” he smiled weakly as the ruckus grew louder with every second. Even with the situation escalating, he seemed surprisingly calm and collected with not a hair on his head out of place. 

“Of course today would be the first day Yale locked the door as he left. Come on, we’ll just have to leave through the main doors,” Dan groaned, indicating the way as the two boys sneaked back into the main hall.

“We’re going to get hit,” Phil shouted over the noise as they scurried past the main tables, heads down.

“It’s just food. Don’t worry. I would say this is usual, but it’s not,” Dan explained as they skirted round the edge of the hall, “We aren’t all barbarians or anything.”

“I’m Phil by the way,” Phil chimed in as he dodged a potato. 

“Well… I am Dan and,” Dan tried to speak before being forced to stop to miss a slab of beef, “I just wanted to say - DUCK!” Dan shouted at Phil, who dropped just before a fully-cooked duck hit the wall where he had been a second ago. 

“Literally,” Phil smirked, standing up as they dashed for the door. 

“Come on. Let's just get out of this. You don’t need your sworn protector or anything?” Dan asked as they slipped out the door. 

“Don’t have one,” Phil answered, straightening up and dusting some stray peas off his suit. “That is to say I have one who lives in the East Crest, but he doesn’t travel with me.”

“Really?” Dan replied, looking at Phil with surprise. Even if he was well-built, it was uncommon for any Royal to not be escorted everywhere. 

“Yeah, I am lord of a military city, and as I spend most of my time there, I’ve picked up a few things over the years. You won’t get in trouble for leaving me alone,” Phil assured him as they walked down the steps.  

“I’ve got to go,” Dan suddenly said, remembering who he was with, not only a Prince but the person destiny wanted him to follow. It felt like he was going to burst if he didn’t tell this boy about his dreams... So Dan’s instant response was to push him away. 

“Well, I’ll see you soon, Dan…” Phil glowed, offering his hand to be shaken.

“Damark. See you soon, Philip Gallaway,” Dan grimaced, shaking Phil’s hand before quickly scurrying away towards his house.

“Phil!” he shouted in a slightly annoyed voice as Dan hurried home while Needle dipped below the horizon and the sky turned a deep purple as the distant light of Thread grew closer. 


	7. Hazel

The Butcher made her dramatic entrance as she always did: with four insignificants, in chains and bleeding, lifting her train due to its length as she fluttered into the room in her blood-red dress. The heavy wooden doors splintered slightly after her entrance into the Great Hall of Black stone. No one even breathed whenever she entered a room.

Hazel Sallow prided herself on looking as fierce as rumours made her out to be: if you can’t beat them, scare them, she’d always thought. Today was of course no different, with her long, claw-like nails painted as red as her dress and makeup to match, her hair carefully braided off her face so people could admire her beauty as she hurt them and the ones they loved. Although she also tried to show off her class with jewellery and other finery, Hazel found having many bleeding slaves around her also did the trick of reminding her friends or foes who she was.

Today could be especially interesting after what a group of bandits from the East Past brought here as a present. Her present, or guest, was certainly special, for kneeling before her was her cousin’s dearest husband, bloody and in chains. Although Hazel had met him but a few times, and even though he had been beaten so brutally, it was definitely him; she had never met such a cowardly man as him before and doubted she would again.

“The King of Izabalia on his knees in front of the Bloody Butcher. Who would have guessed it?” Hazel laughed aloud, as much to herself as the people around her. “Bring me Vulpecula and Sagitta. I want to show them how to break a snowy shit.” And with that, already one insignificant had bowed and scurried off like the well-trained rats they were.

“Please don’t hurt me…” the man whispered to the floor, not even daring to look up.

“Why don’t you look at me when you grovel, snowy pig?

Beg for your pathetic little life, why don’t you?” Hazel spat at him before gathering her long dress to strut over to where he knelt. She finally pulled his face up with her long nails, slick greasy hair leaving her hand moist, digging her claws in to make squirm, but not enough to escape her gaze. There across his face was a new long scar from his temple to his lip crossing his left eyeball, which was only a hollow hole now, still bloody and red.  

“Hazel.” Oswald Sallow, Duke of the Mark, called sternly as he entered, spotting her.

“I was just starting-” she began to utter. Sadly, the only person with any control over her was her own husband, and he had more sense than her any day. They often compared her to his hunting dogs, but she was no bitch. Anyone who even whispered that could lose a tongue at least.

“You will have your time, but now is not that time. Who brought in the snowy pig, and from where?” Oswald bellowed, looking at the crowds of mercenaries, lords, ladies, common folk, and bandits in the cold, black stone room.

“I did, sir. He was heading down the Nackati Path south,” Oone husky fellow wrapped in white furs spoke up, his two sabers still dangling loosely in his hands.

“Give him a fit reward, will you, Falvar,” Hazel said to the Mark’s head of Council. Born in the wild southern clans of Peakton as a dark mage, Falvar had escaped his past life to pursue a world that relied more on cunning than brawn until he made his way to the top. He was slimey and tricky, but maybe that’s what made him appealing to Hazel, that and the hope that one day she would actually see his full face because Falvar still wore his traditional deep dark blue hooded capes, only revealing the dark skin across his bottom jaw.

“With pleasure, your grace,” Falvar muttered and bowed from the High Council’s table in front of the Duke’s chair but behind where the prisoner knelt. Before anything else could be done, though, from the high chambers Lord Vulpecula and Lady Sagitta entered eagerly, both thin, tall and blessed with the Sallow auburn hair.

“What are they doing here?” Oswald demanded in a hushed whisper to Hazel as the insignificant she had sent to get them followed them into the room and helped them to be seated on the High Council’s table.

“I wanted to show them how to treat their enemies,” Hazel grinned, looking down at the prisoner still kneeling by her feet. He was so weak it only took a kick for him to collapse back down to the floor.

“You will have your chance later to deal with him how you wish,” Oswald stated, staring at his wife with menace.

“Spoilsport,” she teased as she retreated from the prisoner, beckoning for a cloth from one of her slaves.

“If he gives us the information we need, he won’t need to be punished,” Oswald said, taking his wife by the arm, his chubby old finger digging into her arm.

“But we could punish him anyway. He married the White Bitch willingly. He deserves all he’s getting anyway,” Hazel challenged him, shoving his arm away as she wiped her hands.

“Please! I’ll give you anything you want! Lands, Castles, Kingdoms!” The prisoner cried, groveling from his position and looking to Oswald for help. Fat chance that would happen. He was as bad, if not worse than, Hazel in his own special way.

“Would you? Give me anything I want? Would you hand over your first-born to a slave owner for nothing but your own freedom? Would you die at the butcher's block? Would you fuck me into oblivion?” The Butcher raised an eyebrow and waited for a response. Then she laughed. “No, I thought not, pig. No one would do anything for anyone. Especially not you. Because all you care about is yourself. Don’t worry. That’s not necessarily bad. I only care about myself too, but I am better than you at it.”

“Enough,” Falvar interrupted, even shouting his silky southern tones could not be stopped. “If he wants to confess what we want, he can now. If not, you can do this in private.”

“With pleasure,” Hazel cackled.

“Speak now,” Falvar commanded the captive. After a moment’s silence, the prisoner raised his head to look Falvar in the eye, but only his mouth moved as if he couldn’t find the words he needed. It was enough to provoke Hazel, however.

“Has your tongue stopped working? If it has, I’ll rip it out,” Hazel suggested then turned to Falvar. “Told you he was a pussy as well as a pig. Don’t worry. I can fix him… or break him apart.”

“He’s all yours,” Oswald said dismissively as he turned to leave.

“Wait! Please! I’ll tell you anything!” the captive king shouted after Oswald as he left as silently as he entered.

“Don’t worry. If he knows anything of use I’ll find it,” Hazel called after Oswald eagerly before turning her attention to the prisoner.  “Confess now, and I’ll give you a bargain. Otherwise I’ll bring you down to my room. I already have the plans laid out.”

“I’ll tell you anything, please...please… I want a bargain,” he spluttered, the fat tears of fear rolling down his cheeks like those of a baby. Hazel sighed. Pity the pathetic ones gave in so easily.


	8. Dan

Sadly, a single night of brawling could not stop festivities from continuing. Serafina Damark and Cecilia Gallaway’s solution was simple: a dance. There, no food could be thrown and all gentlemen would have to behave accordingly, plus it would be opportune to try and make matches between the noble men and women from both parts of the country.

So once all of the Damarks were dressed, though not all willingly, they set off to Eridanus Hall, already fed. Dusk was swiftly approaching as Needle wove its way through the clouds and distant unknown lights in the sky that twinkled from afar.

Quirina was obviously dressed as fancy as possible, wearing a fine, long, azure ball gown decorated with organza and small lapis lazuli gems round the low-cut neck, trying to show off her mostly non-existent breasts. Her chocolate hair had been carefully curled so it fell delicately over her shoulders.

Fay, on the other hand, trailing along beside her father, had avoided nearly all of Mother's attention towards her clothes and had resorted to a simple off-the-shoulder light green dress. Her ridiculously long honey-blond hair had been carefully styled into a high bun with strands of hair left dangling. She had gotten her way like yesterday with her sword, Dragonfly, now attached to her belt as she huffed along, fiddling with her hair.

Pomia had resorted to a dress tonight, though it was unlike their sisters’. The knee-length golden dress was carefully stitched so they still wore a dress but had a boy-like jacket sewn in. Their short, scruffy silver hair had not been styled, and they were currently like Fay, moping beside their father as he dragged them both along.

Dan had not been as lucky as any of them, though. Instead, he had been forced into a “dashing” black and gold doublet and breeches, depicting the house symbol, complete with a neck ruff. He looked ridiculous, to say the least. Not that his father looked that different, both clothing-wise as well as in attitude towards said clothes.

“Daniel, imagine me dancing with all the handsome Lords,” Quirina giggled, spinning again and showing off the many layers of her dress as they walked towards the Hall.

“If they look anything like me, they won’t be handsome,” Dan muttered, hoping that his Mother wouldn’t hear, but with her super bat-like ears of course she did.

“Honestly, Dan, you should be grateful. That outfit could have fed a small family for a month,” Serafina scolded from her husband's arm.

“Then why did you make me wear it?” Dan asked deadpan, staring his mother straight in the eye.

“We are in the presence of Royalty. And potentially all your future wives and husbands, children. So behave and be polite.” His Mother sighed, disappointed her son could clearly not grasp a concept that was so simple to her.

“Dan, at least for your Mother’s happiness, be good,” Damian added, as stern and serious as he was in council meetings.

“I will,” Dan conceded as they finally reached the doors to Eridanus Hall. “I’ll even dance with whatever lady you choose.”

“Fine. Go seek out Lyra Gallaway while you’re here,” Damian sadly smiled at his hopeless son as they entered to fanfares.

It took him at least ten minutes to find her, what with all the greetings and good wishes he received from people, but eventually Dan spotted Lyra Gallaway.

She stood a little to the side of the hall, watching all the people dancing from behind a pillar, though it did nothing to hide her from prying eyes. The pale pink gown she wore reached right to the floor and was so light that whenever she moved, it gave the appearance that she was floating. The dress hung carefully off her shoulders, and the neckline was made of white lace accentuating her pale skin. Long, pure blonde curls were simply braided off her face to show her youthful appearance. A few people would come beg her to dance, but she would simply bat them away with her hand as she watched, almost sadly, the happy couples filing the floor. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but to Dan she was just another girl he did not want to be with.

“Princess Lyra Gallaway, Ruler of Aquila, may I ask your hand for this next dance?”

“Why certainly, Lord Daniel Damark of Eridanus.” She offered him her hand, and he led her out onto the floor.

“You do look beautiful this evening,” he tried saying after a few minutes.

“And you look handsome.” Her reply was immediate, almost automatic. “You need not keep up this act. Our parents aren’t watching,” she pointed out in a slightly more interested tone.

“They aren’t, but everyone else is,” Dan answered, glancing nervously around them.

“Not used to the attention?” Her tone had turned almost sympathetic.

“I am used to wearing much simpler clothes than this, it must be said.”

The movement of the dance drew them apart for a moment.

“Do people ever stop staring?” Dan asked when they came back together.

“Nope. And you’d better get used to it because after our wedding that’s all it’s going to be.” She gave a graceful little shrug, a gesture befitting a princess.

“What?” Dan spluttered, so surprised he stopped dancing for a moment. With a small frown of irritation, Lyra jerked him back into place, and he remembered himself, taking hold of her hand again as the dance required.

“You may prefer to stay beneath everyone’s notice, but as much as I appreciate your humble lifestyle,” she told him, “I like the fineries in life.”

“No, not that,” he muttered. “I mean what do you mean ‘after our wedding’?”

“Our engagement was decided last night I am afraid,” she shrugged again, and as elegant as the gesture was, something about it made him feel a small wave of disgust.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Lyra questioned, stopping in their not very convincing swaying.

“Sorry, my Lady, I was just so flattered by the news of our engagement,” Dan stumbled, the forced words making his skin boil. However, the swift apology was enough to convince this young girl that whatever perfect dream she had in mind was still realistic.

“I am glad you are flattered, my lord. I am sure we can discuss the details of this at a more convenient time, if it pleases you.” She smiled, repeating the clearly practiced etiquette she had been taught to spew out.

“It would. Is your family here this evening? I am yet to see them?” Dan politely asked as they resumed their practiced steps.

“Everyone apart from our darling future ruler, who was too busy to grace us with his presence,” she simpered, looking deep into Dan’s eyes.

“I hope this journey hasn’t put too many concerns on his plate,” Dan tried to sound concerned. Despite years of etiquette lessons, his tutors had learned Dan wasn’t very good at lying.

“He’s probably visiting some whorehouse or other. That’s Adrian.” She sighed, clearly ashamed, before realising she had spoken aloud, and her distaste turned to shocked blushing. “I am sorry! I hope I haven’t offended you, my Lord. Your city is an amazing place.”

Luckily for Dan he didn’t really have any dear love for his city, nor would he lie to protect it. Whorehouses were just a part of city life everywhere in Miloria; it was only acknowledging them that was shameful. However, he must have looked shocked. In the end, it is not often you hear princesses bad-mouth their brothers. “You mustn’t get flustered, my dear,” Dan quickly interjected, glancing around to check they weren’t being overheard, “I was just surprised that visiting such establishments was something the Prince would do.”

“Sadly, Adrian doesn’t even care to keep it secret. At least I have one good brother. Phil is here along with my parents.” She continued recomposing herself, slowly pulling Dan closer than necessary.

“Well, I am glad they are here at the dance enjoying themselves,” Dan grinned genuinely for the first time. Someone at least deserved to be enjoying themselves. “Enough talking, let’s just dance,” he finally said, wanting this whole affair to be done for now. But this dance seemed never-ending, and with each new verse, Lyra moved closer until they were dancing quite intimately.

Maybe this was how she had always dreamed her life would begin, that their love would be as perfect as the stories and songs: some handsome lord or knight would come and sweep her off her feet and dance with her all night long. Not that it was her fault; she was, after all, only a child of fifteen and not educated in the real ways of the world, unlike Dan.

He knew the stories of his ancestors by heart, particularly those of Damian, the first water lord who denounced his arranged marriage to wed his childhood sweetheart, Lily, a common girl. In fact, there were many similar stories throughout the whole of Miloria and other great family trees. Even though it hadn’t happened for centuries, Dan was sure he would be the first to reintroduce this tradition, if only he could find someone whom he did truly love.

Dance after dance came and went, but despite Dan’s best efforts, Lyra would not let him go, not even when many other lesser lords came to ask for just one dance. She would always send them away saying, “I have a duty to dance with our Host's son and my engaged I am afraid, good sir.”

It didn’t help either that with each dance more people would join the dance floor until it was a little too close for comfort, for Dan at least. All the other lords had been drinking so much they seemed not to care. It was too tight for spins and turns that might release him from Lyra’s grip for even a moment, meaning all they could do was a tight waltz.

Eventually Dan had to break apart and search for an excuse to escape. “My Lady, I am afraid I am too parched to dance a second longer.”

“Then let me fetch you some refreshment, my Lord. I will be no more than a second.” Lyra curtsied before disappearing into the crowd of dancers away from him. He lacked even the chance to stop her or bow goodbye. Maybe it would be better to simply get ‘lost’ in the crowd and escape the hall before anyone else asked for a dance. He had, in previous dances, had to avoid the pushy Lady Nickita of the Bulbic River. This wasn’t his first escape attempt, to say the least.

However, no sooner had he turned to leave to make his way through the crowd than he heard a scuffle behind. A second later, a blade was pressed against his back, already cutting his clothes.

“Don’t shout, your grace, or I will give you a beautiful red smile to match the banners,” the cool female voice from behind almost whispered to Dan above the music. The blade he felt was hidden by the long sleeves of the dress the female in question was wearing, the silver and white dress masking the similar colours of the blade.

Fear was now pulsing through Dan’s veins, making him stiff as a wooden board. Moreover, to Dan’s dismay, no one had noticed what was going on. To any outsiders, it simply looked as though the two of them were sharing an intimate moment, what with her hand wrapped around his waist and her soft lips nipping at his ear, so close he could hear her calm breaths.

“We are going to take a walk outside, that is all. Don’t move too quickly or draw attention to us. If anyone asks, you are returning me to my house like a gentleman would. Now walk,” she breathed gently in Dan’s ear, pushing him towards the door. The crowd, too preoccupied with dancing, just parted for them, taking no heed.

“Tilt your head to the side and let me kiss you,” the girl uttered, her long, curled ginger hair falling over Dan’s shoulder. Dan obliged as she carefully left lipstick stains down his neck, not to his delight. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to shudder or squirm away.

They had almost reached the front door by now without attracting any eyes, his doom now in sight. It would take them not a second outside the door for his throat to be slit and for this girl to escape without suspicion. The Bloody Lord would be what people called him. Assassinated in his own hall.

It was then, by some small miracle or act of the Gods, that Emno and Regan of the Bulbric River appeared from the crowd on the dance floor, both clearly exhausted and a little drunk. But it was he, Emno, who finally stopped to stare at Dan canoodling with this lady near the door. Who knew why he did, but thankfully for Dan he approached.

“My Lord Daniel-” Emno began, bowing as he approached.

“-Dan,” Dan quickly interrupted out of habit.

“Dan,” Emno corrected himself, “where might you be off to at such a late hour unaccompanied?”

After a moment’s silence and a little more pressure from the hidden blade, Dan responded in a manner that was almost convincingly cool, “I am merely accompanying this Lady home.”

“And where might that be?” Regan asked, concern and suspicion etched all over her face as Emno unhooked himself from her arm.

“The Friar’s Road to the Golden Corn Inn, milord,” the girl answered confidently in a slightly northern accent, her pronunciation of ‘my lord’ betraying her persona.

“That would be fine if it existed,” Emno scoffed as he suddenly drew his sword.

“Move a step closer and I’ll slice my dagger clean through your Lord’s neck,” she finally threatened in a strong Frozen Tongue accent, quickly moving the dagger to Dan’s throat. The scene had finally caught enough attention for the other attendees to notice the commotion. The music and laughter stopped, and many Ladies gasped and even fainted at the sight of the blood dripping from Dan’s neck.

“If any of you move, I’ll kill him,” she shouted as Guards and Lords alike reached for swords and shields. The scene seemed to stand still for a second, no one, including the girl, really knowing what to do. She was panting heavily in Dan’s ear. This was clearly not going to plan for her.

However, It was at that precise moment that someone, appearing as if from nowhere, plunged their own sword deep into the assassin's lower side from behind her.

She did not scream or howl. She simply let out a shaky breath, possibly her last, as she looked down at the sword sticking into her stomach, its hilt so far in it pierced out the other side of her. Her body almost crumpled in as the blood oozed out of her side, pattering on the floor in the silence. She knew this was her end. Dan could feel the panic and sadness radiating off her.

“Yutra Madi,” she spat in the Frozen Tongue as blood spluttered from her mouth, her hand loosening as she slumped forwards dead on to Dan, the dagger she had been holding clattering to the ground away from Dan’s throat.

Finally free of the assassin, Dan bent forward, gasping, clutching at his throat where there were still thin cuts from the delicately sharp blade, blood dripping slightly from where the blade had cut deepest. Looking behind him, Dan could see the Assassin could be no more than thirteen years old, with a thin face, shrunken with hunger no doubt. Even her vain attempts to cover her real place in society with jewelry and makeup couldn’t hide that. She was no assassin really, just a street girl dressed up to get paid. Her eyes were now glassy and clouded but still showed the deep rich brown that had once resided there, gone forever.

The sword was still in her side but that didn’t stop more dark blood pouring out of her, leaving a puddle on the floor where she lay still. It was not a clean cut. There had been no time for that, but Dan could not help but pity her. Pity the girl who had tried to be an assassin who now lay dead in a pool of her own blood.

Though many people rushed forward to see if Dan was alive and well, it didn’t stop him seeing his saviour, who now pulled his bloody sword out of the girl. His cosmic eyes still blinked between Dan and the girl as if in shock over what had just occurred. Philip Gallaway, however, had never looked better than in that moment to Dan, blood and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk about DRAMATIC! Also fun fact Lyra is totally unintentionally based off Myrcella Lannister, particularly her dress sense. I would kill for one of Myrcella’s dresses. Anyway hope your enjoying this so far!


	9. Perdita

By the time Perdita woke, Dodie was already gone, sent off on a beautiful carriage covered in flowers and twigs with a huge escort to marry a Prince. All because she had been born three minutes older. True, Dodie’s birth had been quick and painless while it had been Perdita’s birth that had killed their mother, but that did not make her any more legitimate to rule over a kingdom than her sister.

That was always the problems with Twins, she supposed. In this world, are you superior just because you're born first? Not that it mattered in the end for poor Perdita. Dodie was a much better match for anyone with her kind and gentle nature, while Perdita was often described as Wildfire in the Keep.

She and Dodie were not identical but completely different, for while Dodie’s hair was dark and luscious, all Perdita got was a curled ginger mess like her Father, the ruler of Pavo Woods, Ren Ottidite. Dodie, on top of that, had already reached womanhood while Perdita was left waiting around for her blessing from Needle, the fiery red God.

The sky was already glaring Red when Perdita woke up to discover it was hours since Dodie had left. She had heard earlier the commotion of preparing Dodie’s belongings and getting her dressed next door, but she hadn’t gotten up to see the ridiculous parade out into the streets. No, Miss Dorothy Ottidite had left without even a goodbye or thought to her younger, less-important sister.

Well at least now the Castle was quieter, without Dodie’s simpering handmaids about. It was calmer, too, in a way. Nothing moved as Perdita stared around her cluttered room, not even her curtain in the breeze. It was much smaller than Dodie’s room, not that her father had a favorite daughter. They had even shared a room for a time, but ever since Dodie’s engagement, Perdita had been shoved into a cramped room on the side of the Keep overlooking the city surrounding them.

They were not royalty, not even dukes, but their little town had grown to such a size it could no longer be ignored by the higher-ups. So Pavo Woods had become a major city, producing mainly wood and soldiers for the Needle, wherever he wanted them to go. It was simply luck the Ottidites had been in power when this happened, and though they were no noble, long-lasting family, they had made their mark. Perdita’s older brother had been married off long ago to some Princess of a realm in the land of ice and snow, and now Dodie was being sent off to the land of Purple Sands dressed in the traditional wedding flowers and the traditional dress. It was hard not to wonder when Perdita’s own adventure would come.

She had always dreamed of not marrying anyone, but in reality that would never happen. A dream where she ruled an army and Pavo Woods was unrealistic, laughable even. The youngest daughter of a lord was used to make alliances, if anyone would marry her, that was.

Finally, stretching in her single bed, Perdita shuffled herself to get ready to stand up, but something wasn’t right. Her bed was wet. Of course, only thirteen-year-old Perdita would wet the bed at her age, but when she pulled back the covers, it wasn’t pee but blood.

Blood was blooming and trickling across the sheets as if someone had been murdered there, but no one had been murdered. Her blessing had finally come.

Shouting praises to Needle, Perdita rushed to her door holding her lace nightgown which was also stained as she ran to get someone to show them she was finally a woman: Finally, a force to be taken seriously.

When her maid Fawn came running, she nearly screamed at the sight of Perdita before realising, “What in Needle’s name- Wait. Has your blessing come?”

“Does this make me a woman?” Perdita asked, excitement pulsing through her.

“A woman and so much more.” Fawn grinned, going to hug Perdita, who happily embraced her. However, no sooner had the embrace started than Fawn pulled away, suddenly coughing as if she had been taken ill for weeks, her face as white as the sheet had once been and also covered in flecks of blood.

“Fawn, what’s happening?” Perdita blurted as Fawn’s coughing worsened, Perdita reaching out to comfort her maid.

Fawn shrieked as Perdita touched her, though, curling back in fear and pain, pushing the child away as she fell down herself, eyes red and bloodshot. She didn’t move again as the blood trickled into a pool from her mouth.

People were already running up the stairs at the sounds as Perdita stared at her hands, now covered in both Fawn’s and her own blood. What were once plain, grey stone walls were smeared with red, and already blood was trickling down the staircase near them, falling with an inaudible patter in the noise. The first to arrive was a guard, who, on seeing the blood staining both the women and the floor started to panic.

“My Lady, are you alright?” he implored, scooping her up from the puddle of blood quickly forming. But his armor did not cover enough of him as he quickly bellowed, dropping Perdita back into the blood as he too started coughing up dark red splatters.

All Perdita could do was shout at the dying man, crying softly into her nightgown, “Stop it! Don’t die, don’t cough, don’t touch me!”

With that, what felt like the whole court was running up the stairs and down the corridor towards her, like flies into a flytrap. Perdita did all she could do: scream.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, letting out a blood-curdling cry as she wrapped her hands and her exposed body into her nightgown.

No one touched her as the world returned to silence again, but not the kind that anyone ever would wish for.

“Wildfire, what have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, Perdita is probably my favourite character in this series.


	10. Louise

“Mummy, where did Daddy go?” Darcy asked her Mother, who was sat watching her from the balcony of her daughter’s nursery. Sweet, innocent Darcy had no idea, bless her, but Louise would not be the one to tell her, not in this way or time.

“Away. He’s just gone out for a bit,” Louise explained, keeping her tone light as if this was no big worry. Just keep sipping your tea and ignore the pain, Louise thought, looking out at the horizon where Needle sat fat, red, and plump, illuminating the frozen forest and casting dark shadows across the glittering snow.

“When’s he coming back?” Darcy added, pausing in plaiting her small doll’s hair, a difficult task for such a young girl with such small hands.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say,” Louise continued, getting up to help her daughter in her efforts, carefully braiding the golden hair of the doll for her.

“Well, as long as he is all right,” Darcy smiled as she turned her attention to another doll.

“I am sure he is. Don’t worry, cub.”

Now that she was down on the floor with her, Louise could see that Darcy had arranged her dolls in a familiar pattern. She was playing her usual game of make-believe. They had enough money for Darcy to have as many toys as she wanted, and come her birthday she would receive more than she could need, but she always came back to her same dolls. Made of porcelain and real hair and delicately painted, it was hard not to at least admire the craftsmanship.

“Can Mummy join the game, Darcy?”

“Of course, you can be the Queen, and I’ll be the King,” Darcy said. Then in a mock-deep voice, she called, “Darling, I am just going out to ride.”

“Oh, my hero, don’t be too long!” Louise replied in a mockingly high voice, making Darcy giggle.

“I will be back soon! Why don’t you look after the baby?” Darcy returned, then picked up the nearby baby doll. “Waaah waaaah!”

“Can I not join you in the hunt?” Louise asked.

“No, a woman’s place is inside,” the King said, though really the words were coming from her daughter’s mouth. Louise frowned, hating to hear her daughter parroting her husband’s hateful words.

“Not always…” Louise corrected before improvising by picking up the nearest doll, a stuffed horse, “I’m a better rider than you anyway. Clippity cloppity.”

However, their play was interrupted by a knock at the nursery door. When Louise called for them to come in, a servant stepped through and bowed.

“My Lady, a rider from the East Crest has arrived bearing a package for you,” the servant said politely, looking between Darcy and her Queen.

“My little Lady, you will have to excuse me,” Louise murmured to Darcy, placing a kiss on her forehead. “See you soon.”

“Bye, Mummy! Tell Jack to bring me cookies or I won’t let him come in,” Darcy squealed after her mother before she picked up a little wolf doll for the young king she was holding to battle with.

“Did he say who it was from?” Louise asked the servant once they were in the hall away from Darcy’s hearing and walking swiftly towards the council’s chamber.

“No, just that it was for you.”

“Is he still here?” Louise asked, straightening her dress as they walked.

“No, he had other packages to deliver, so he couldn’t stay,” the servant explained, opening the council’s chamber’s door.

“You can go.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” The servant smiled before bowing and leaving Louise at the table where the package was placed.

No letter or return address was attached to the large, ornate box sitting so innocently on the council table. If there was a message, it would probably be secured inside anyway. There were too many prying eyes these days for it not to have been read. However, the lock on the box was still intact, and the key was placed next to it on the table, awaiting her command.

Solid wood was engraved with leaves and hearts, and it easily could have been a jewelry box in another life; it was about the same size as a large one, but instead it was too impractical to access. Plus it reeked of disgusting perfume. Maybe the contents of its package had spilled. Wrinkling her nose, Louise carefully put the key in the lock and, with a satisfying click, removed the lock and pulled back the lid.

If the smell of the perfume had been bad before, this smell was a million times worse as it hit Louise’s face, making her recoil. Perfume mixed with the smell of rotting meat radiated from the box, making it seem less innocent than it had first appeared, and when Lousie finally looked in, she couldn’t even speak.

Rot had destroyed most of the skin, but the features still remained: the blood-soaked head of her husband had been placed so carefully within the velvet interior of the box.

That was when Louise screamed. As she screamed, tears of anger and pain ran down her face. She stared at the head, its eyes already turning into goo dripping down its face. Yet at the same time, it was still fresh, his lips so familiar, but gone was all trace of any happiness she had ever found in him. His head was severed almost expertly at the base but not fully cleaned, as blood still drenched the bottom of the box.

Before she was dragged away, her face as pale as the head’s skin, by what seemed to be the entire court who had come running at the commotion, she had a chance to read the note attached to the lid in blood red and stamped with her stamp.

_Here lies a coward. Excellent lover, betrayer, and shit husband. Don’t worry. I gave him a compromise of a quick death. Long may he sleep._

_Love, the Butcher xx_

Louise, despite her utter shock, knew one thing as they closed the box and took her away to quiet down: she would not be silent any longer. This meant war. Long may Hazel’s death take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing that note was honestly one of the most fun I've had writing. I'm so evil hehehehe.


	11. Dan

“You want to go to the East Crest?” Damian chortled over lunch with Dan the following day. Since the attempted assassination, Dan had been banned from leaving the house, with Chris following him everywhere, and whether that was a good thing or not Dan couldn’t say. **  
**

Luckily for Chris, he would have been punished for failing to protect Dan if Dan hadn’t spoken up, telling his father that it was not his fault and it would have been impossible for him to stop her anyway.

Many visiting Lords and Ladies had stopped by to see that Dan was safe and to bid the Duke and Duchess farewell, but Dan had yet to see Phil to thank him. Apparently, the Gallaways would be leaving swiftly back to the East Crest to greet some Lady from Pavo Woods into the court, so sadly this conversation had to be now.

“Yes, Father, I want to go to the East Crest,” Dan repeated for what felt like the tenth time, slumping slightly more in his chair.

“Why on Needle would you want to go there?” Damian asked, taking another large bite of his chicken leg. “Your family is here, your kingdom that you will have to rule someday is here. What has the East Crest got that we haven’t? I mean, if anything it was their company that nearly led to-”

“-My death?” Dan interrupted, already knowing what his dad would say. “Dad, if there is someone out to kill me from the North, it wouldn’t matter if I was here or in the East Crest.”

“You still haven’t told me why you want to go,” Damian stated, pausing in his eating to really look at his son. Apparently, according to his Mother, he was almost identical to his Father when he was younger, except he had inherited his Mother’s softer heart.

“Well I am engaged now to Princess Lyra. Surely I should see her kingdom and be with her now,” Dan blubbered, trying to convince himself as well as his father. “By the way, thank you for telling me about that.”

“I didn’t think you needed to know yet. Also, we both know that’s not the reason,” Damian sighed, his look also making Dan pause in poking at his food.

There was a long pause before Dan finally spoke up, saying, “Phillip Gallaway is the person from my dream.”

“The Purple Coast dream?” Damian asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“What other dreams do I have,” Dan sarcastically answered, trying to lighten the mood.

“How long have you known that for?” Damian questioned, though Dan thought he secretly knew the answer.

“Since I first saw him,” Dan confessed, returning to poking at his salad, anything that meant he wouldn’t have to look his father in the eye.

“You’ve know for nearly four days and you didn’t tell me,” Damian chided.

“I wanted to meet the guy before you forced me to go with them. I wanted it to be my decision,” Dan shrugged, finally looking up at his Father, who was leaning back in his chair, his eyes a little wide.

“You are becoming a cunning young man, Daniel. I don’t know whether to be proud or angry,” Damian said, shaking his head and breaking their eye contact.

“Be neither. Just let me go,” Dan begged, putting his fork down again only to quickly stand up, leaning slightly over the table.

“You really want to go?”

“I think it might be what the Gods want me to do,” Dan tried to explain but mostly failed.

“Well then, you're not going alone,” Damian insisted, gesturing for Dan to sit down again.

“Dad, I don’t want you to come-” Dan started before he was cut off by laughter from his father.

“Me?” Damian guffawed before calming down, “No, I meant Chris and well… follow me.” Damian gestured, leading his son into his study at the back of the upper house. The dusty study was mostly unused as all the meetings took place at Eridanus Hall, but certain parts of the room -- the bookcase, the armchair -- were mostly dust free thanks to Dan’s frequent visits to borrow books from his father’s library. However, his father didn’t go for the bookcase but to two daggers mounted above his desk, carefully taking them down and holding them out for Dan.

“You want me to take Tamsin? The Tamsin?” Dan asked, confused. Surely his father wasn’t presenting him with the deadliest daggers in the Riverlands.

“You remember how they work?” Damian asked as Dan carefully picked them up. It had been years since his Father showed Dan how they worked, but he remembered it exactly.

“The two daggers can extend to form two swords if you press this button here and if you click them together like this,” Dan explained, joining the hilts carefully together until they clicked. “They can form a double blade.”

“You have to take care of her, Dan. It’s been in our family for eleven generations. It is no toy,” Damian warned as Dan carefully weighed the blades in his hand.

“This was Eridanus’ sword, wasn’t it?” Dan asked. Eridanus, for whom the capital of the Riverlands was named, was the first Damark and the first of the Old River Kings before the East Crest conquered the Riverlands.

“Yes, it was. It will protect you. No Lord or Lady Damark has fallen with it in their hands,” Damian explained, handing Dan the belt to hold the deadly blades.

“Thank you.” Dan smiled as he carefully sheathed the blades.

“I’ll tell Ulric that you are seeking to be nearer your Fiancée and that I am also sending you to learn about the East Crest. Don’t tell anyone who you don’t trust your true business in the East Crest, especially since we don’t even know what will happen. Come on. We will have to tell your Mother.” Damian gestured for Dan to follow as he led him out of the room, now with two new companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact 2: Tamsin, the sword, was inspired by two detachable panhandles.


	12. Jack

“I think you’re overreacting a bit, Lou…” Jack reasoned as Louise sat on her bed, tears streaming down her face and Darcy clinging to her mother’s waist.

“No, Darcy must get out of the North now. It’s no longer safe,” Louise responded, grasping Darcy closer to her chest. Her face was red from crying. Jack had come running as soon as he heard the news Louise’s husband’s head had turned up in a box. He wasn’t surprised to find her locked in her room with Darcy.

“Mummy, I don’t want to go,” Darcy whimpered, probably scared out of her mind. Louise wouldn’t have told Darcy what she had seen, not in a million years.

“Trust me, dear, you will be much safer away from here,” Louise cooed, sitting Darcy on her lap and playing gently with her hair. “Jack, I want you to organise a coach right now.”

“Louise, where? Where would I take her?” Jack asked, exasperated, as he stared at Louise. She had finally lost it, he decided.

“Not to the Mark,” Louise whispered into Darcy’s hair, rocking her back and forth. The tears had begun to ease up now, but the occasional one still graced her cheek.

“That’s obvious, but nowhere in the immediate South is safe! The Sallows’ army stretches along the entire border, and even if I did somehow get past them, nowhere would take her in, not with Hazel potentially hunting her down,” Jack explained, running his hands through his hair.

“THEY KILLED MY HUSBAND! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?” Louise screamed at Jack, her eyes wild and scary. The whole world seemed to freeze at those words, even the tears on Louise’s cheeks froze in place.

“M-m-mummy, I’m cold…” Darcy whimpered, trying to crawl out of her Mother’s arms.

“Darcy, come here a second,” Jack called her over softly as she climbed out of Louise’s arms. After Darcy had come to stand next to Jack, he only had to open the door to find about ten maids standing around listening, “This nice lady is going to take you to your room. I’ll be there shortly, okay?”

“Okay, Jacky…” Darcy sniveled as the tears started also coming down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry. You're a big, grown-up princess, aren’t you?” Jack consoled as he kneeled down to cuddle Darcy.

“I won’t cry anymore, Jacky,” Darcy said quietly, straightening up as Jack stood again.

“Go along now,” Jack mumbled as Darcy clumsily curtsied before following the maid out.

Louise was still sat there, her arms closing around nothing and her eyes full of concern. “There will be guards outside her window and door. Don’t fret,” Jack comforted Louise as he sat down next to her, offering her a hug instead. “Come here, Lou.”

Louise burst into fresh tears, trembling in Jack’s arms as she blubbered, “She’s so young. Too young.” All Jack could say though was, “I know.” What else was there to say? After a while, Louise stopped crying, and they broke apart to sit in silence. The window was thrown open, letting the cool air sweep in but also filling the room with a gentle blue light. Thread had risen, making every tree it touched glisten and sparkle in the pale blue light.

“But what do I do?” Louise finally spoke softly, breaking the silence. “The people of my kingdom want justice for my dead husband, but I can’t declare war. Not with Darcy here and not without a strong army. Oswald Sallow’s army outnumbers ours ten to one.” Louise sighed, fiddling with her dress, blue and crisp like the day.

“Remember, though, we have some protection,” Jack said, encouraged, placing his own hand on her restless one.

“The Snofrid Mountains won’t protect us from an army,” Louise exhaled, following Jack’s gaze. The Three tall mountains named after the greatest of the early Snow Kings, Usidore, Elendore and Brandon, could be seen from almost anywhere in Izabalia. They were so important to the Snofrid family that they were the main feature on their banners.

“But Usidore the Mountain has the only direct route to the capital,” Jack observed, standing up and walking towards the window to get a better view of them, the snow on the top of them seeming to glitter in response.

“So?” Louise asked, slowly joining Jack at the window.

“Block it off and you block off the army. It will take them at least a month to go up the Nackati Path, and they could be stopped by the East Crest. They are surely acting without command from their ‘Needle’,” Jack speculated, excitedly turning to look at Louise.

“But that could cut off the path many traders take,” Louise disagreed, crossing her arms to try and keep herself warm, “We could lose out on food, supplies, armour and swords and wood. Plus it endangers every man, woman and child along the Nackati Path as they won’t have anyone to protect them.”

“What do you propose we do then?” Jack replied carefully, putting a hand on Louise’s shoulder.

“We lure them to the Usidore Pass and tempt them through where our army will be,” Louise stated, turning away from the window in search of some warmer clothes.

“You better get a good army then.” Jack smiled, watching her fumble around in her chest of drawers.

“About Darcy…” Louise said, slowly standing up to wrap herself in a polor bear shawl, “I am serious. I don’t want her in a Capital about to be attacked.”

“I understand. I just don’t know where we would take her,” Jack remarked as he closed the balcony windows.

“Cestila’s Crossing. There is an island in between the North and South,” Louise suggested, slumping in an armchair near the low-burning fire.

“No, the king has an army outpost there with soldiers from all of the Southern Kingdoms. The Sallows will have friends there all too happy to kill a little girl for money. Even if she is just passing through, the Sallows will hear of it and send an assassin after her.” Jack sighed, joining her. The room had grown cold so quickly at Louise’s outburst.

“We get her to Pavo Woods then. She is technically a future heir,” Louise remembered, turning to look at Jack for some sign of approval.

“Even if we could get her there, I hate to tell you but we’ve already intercepted two messages to the Ottidites claiming you caused your husband’s death. They may even kill her themselves to save the trouble of giving her to Hazel. Heir or not, she is your daughter too,” Jack cautioned as Louise, losing hope, hunched her shoulders.

“The Second Kingdom?” Louise desperately voice aloud, already knowing the answer.

“Too far away. She would have to stop at both Cestila’s Island and in the Riverlands. Plus there are army posts there too. Birds are good at sending messages even to far away places,” Jack finished, giving up, content to let silence fall about them. Not even the small fire seemed to crackle then.

“Nackati…” Louise whispered, almost in the instant she thought it.

“What?” Jack questioned, looking at her.

“I lived there for a bit with the Nuns to learn valuable skills,” Louise explained, trying to put her thoughts and hope into words.

“But will that protect her from the Sallows?” Jack inquired, his brow furrowing and becoming almost a storm, too hard to read.

“Once she has stepped foot on the Island, it would be blasphemous to even draw a sword on her,” Louise noted, relief spreading over her own face until it softened again.

“But are there even guards or protection on the Island?” Jack quizzed her, not as convinced as Louise was of the safety of this little Northern island.

“No, but the Nuns will protect her.” Louise softly smiled, brushing the hair off her face so it could feel the fire’s warm glow.

“That won’t stop an assassin stealing her from her bed at night-” Jack urged, trying to make Louise see some kind of common sense.

“-The Nuns will protect her. Trust me…” Louise interjected firmly, cold once again, almost implying there was something deeper that she couldn’t tell Jack.

“So how do we get her there?” Jack was resigned. He trusted Louise, so whatever it was she wasn’t telling, it was none of his business. If he needed to know, she would tell him, he believed.  

“Any ship leaving from any port, but the ones in the East Crest will be spotted and boarded by the Sallows’ fleet, small though it may be. We don’t have any ships to spare if we are doing all our trading by Cestila’s Crossing,” Louise confessed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her shoes were already long abandoned beside her bed.

“So she has to travel down the Nackati Path…” Jack pondered sadly. The path would certainly be dangerous, and as soon as word of Darcy’s departure reached the ears of the Sallows, the path would be crawling with people searching for her for a reward.

“The closest town on the Border on the East Crest side has a small guard. Any large party will draw attention, but one or two riders with a good back story could get her onto a small boat and to the island with no one noticing. Traders pass through there all the time,” Louise explained, her eyes not drifting from the fire, almost sensing what Jack was about to say.

“I’ll go,” Jack volunteered instantly.

“I thought you would say that.” She sighed sadly, turning her head to look at him, a stray blonde hair falling delicately in front of her face. “Do you have to?”

“No one knows her as well as me, and she trusts me. I can handle myself and a small girl. We can pretend to be traders,” Jack coaxed Louise, shuffling closer to her.

“You have to come back. You have to get her there safely.” Louise desperately trembled, tears threatening to shatter down her cheeks.

“I will. I swear to Needle and Thread and to any other Gods that may exist,” Jack proclaimed, getting up to kneel down in front of her, if only to wipe the upcoming tears.

Suddenly, though, after Louise had taken a second to compose herself, all trace of sadness was gone, only to be replaced by a coldness Jack had never seen. “You may be my closest friend, but if she dies, I don’t care if you live or die. I will kill you.”

“Lou, I won’t fail you,” Jack promised, reaching out to touch her hand, but she quickly pulled it away, walking away from Jack back towards the balcony windows.

“You’d better get packing then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fans of ‘Hello, from the Magic Tavern’ yes I named a freaking mountain after Usidore the Blue.


	13. Phil

“What do you mean you’ve never played cards?” Phil asked, flabbergasted, as he shuffled his pristine deck of cards.

“Simple as that. I’ve never played cards. None of my family ever saw any use in it,” Dan responded, shifting in his seat and looking a little uncomfortable. It had been four days since they had left the Riverlands, and most of their time had been spent on horseback, speeding through the countryside at a gruelling pace. Phil had been told to look after Dan, the heir of the Damarks who was not that much younger than himself but so much less experienced. He looked as though he had never properly learnt how to ride (until Phil gave him a few handy tips which smartened him up), he had never travelled outside of the Riverlands, and now this.

As dusk had come early, Phil’s father had called for the train to stop and pitch their tents for a much-deserved rest. They were in sight of the Woods now, a colossal body of trees which spread across a large portion of Miloria, meaning they could be no more than two weeks’ travel from the East Crest and a comfortable bed. Not that sharing a tent with Dan was bad, but it was not an ideal arrangement. As the decision for Dan to come had been a late one, he had no tent or real equipment for the journey, but Phil’s mother had suggested he share with Phil, and he couldn’t deny him then, could he? So here he was stuck in his elegant tent with a farm boy who happened to be a Damark.

He certainly looked like a farm boy: brown, curled hair, brown eyes, little dimples that popped out when he smiled. He wasn’t even that clean; even when they had first met, he had mud staining his neck -- not that Phil had dared point it out. He certainly was nothing like the Damarks of legend. Apart from the fact he was wiping down Tamsin, the famous sword of the Damarks.

“Well, then, if you’re coming with us to the East Crest, someone has to teach you. It’s like a second language there,” Phil chuckled, carefully shuffling his best set of cards. They were a magnificent set, laced with gold and with each picture carefully inked with precision and intricacy. Wherever he went, he took them. Cards were such a universal language; you need not speak the same tongue to understand when you lost or won a hand.

“What now?” Dan asked, looking nervous as he paused in his polishing.

“Games like Canasta and Poker take a long time to learn. The sooner you know the rules, the better. Plus, we can’t bloody well play on horseback in the morning can we? Excuse my tongue,” Phil said, delicately sitting down at a small table that had been squished into the tent. “Do you at least know the suits and numbers?”

“Jack, Queen, King, Ace… roughly,” Dan explained as he sheathed Tamsin into the two scabbard either side of his belt before joining Phil at the table.

After a moment of shuffling, Phil flipped the top card on to the table, the soft painted face looking out of the tent. “What’s my card?”

“It’s the Jack of hearts,” Dan answered after a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Phil smiled softly before flipping the next one onto the table in front of Dan, this time the surly face of the character glaring up at the ceiling. “And yours?”

“The Jack of S-spades,” Dan stuttered, looking up hopefully at Phil, who returned only a small nod. Phil was far too restless for this, though. He was used to having everyone understand his cards, and all he wanted to do really was go to sleep. So he quickly changed the subject, if only to distract himself from the idea of teaching Dan cards.

“It’s getting light already, I swear,” Phil drawled, looking out of the tent flap, which was still slightly open, letting in the pink glow from outside.

“We still have six hours of dusk, or that is what the Watch were saying,” Dan sighed, rubbing his eyes in response. It was past midnight after all.

“I doubt it. Dusk has been getting shorter and shorter of recent. We’re getting more daylight than we need,” Phil complained, lounging back in his chair.

“Says you,” Dan suddenly interjected, making Phil jump a little bit in his chair. Where had this come from?

“Excuse me?” Phil asked carefully.

“You look like the Gods have never touched your face. Are you always locked up in the palace?” Dan huffed, shuffling so he was sitting on the edge of his chair.

“It’s just my ancestry. I’ve got some slice of Snofrid in me somewhere,” Phil retorted, trying to stay calm.

“The Snofrids may be pale, but not as pale as you,” Dan asserted, not breaking his eye contact with Phil.

“Well, you’re a lot of talk. Have you even seen a Snofrid? Cause I have. You’re meant to be a Damark, but I haven’t seen one slice or indication of royalty or upper breeding in you,” Phil finally scoffed, standing up and leaning over the table, but Dan cut him off before he could go any further.

“Then you clearly don’t know the Damark family very well,” Dan interjected. He really didn’t know when to shut up, did he?

“Plus you have the Tamsin, and all you do is stare at it or polish it some more. Not once have I ever seen you swing it, not even when practicing,” Phil continued. Their voices had become so loud it was now practically a shouting match.

“I’ll swing it at your face in a minute if you don’t shut up,” Dan shouted, finally standing up to face Phil and slamming the two daggers of Tamsin on the table.

However, their arguing was quickly cut off by a scream coming from outside, its high pitch and desperation stilling both Dan and Phil’s tongues. No sooner had it been heard than it stopped. It was too quiet all of a sudden.

“What was that?” Dan whispered, quickly and carefully straightening up, holding the two daggers in front of him ready for a fight.

However, Phil didn’t have a chance to answer before the tent was overrun with warriors, faces hidden by black masks and swords drawn. How they had got past the guards near their tent was a mystery, but that could be dealt with later when they weren’t presumably fighting for their lives.

Instantly, two lunged for Dan, ready to skewer him, but thankfully he had Tamsin to hand. The two poor souls couldn't have anticipated the fact that this small boy holding two mere daggers was not what he seemed. They were dead before Phil had a chance to blink, two swords sticking out their heads. Dan, cleverley, had lunged for the two, dodging their swords, thrusting a dagger into each of the crooks’ head before extending them just as the hilt reached bone. That had made them scream.

Phil had bigger problems, though, as he was unarmed and his sword and shield were across the tent in a corner. All he had on him was a small pocket knife in his belt for emergencies. Thankfully, this classed as an emergency, and although it was no match for a sword, it might help him a little. Especially as one of the warriors was heading straight for him.

Phil dropped to the floor as the blade whizzed past where his head had been a second before. His knife was drawn in an instant, and swiftly he plunged it into his attacker's foot, making them howl with pain. It was all the time he needed to scramble across the ground to reach for his blade.

Phil had barely picked up the sword and turned around, still on the floor, before his attacker was back striking down at him, angrier than ever. This attacker was using far too much force for Phil to have a chance at blocking his blows, so he simply rolled around on the floor, trying to avoid them before he kneed them in the crotch, making them flinch but not receiving the reaction he had hoped for. It was enough, however, for Phil to have a chance to grab his shield and hit them across the face with it, knocking them to the ground beside him.

“Leave the Prince,” a sharp, female voice in a thick, northern accent shouted over the chaos in that moment towards his attacker who was, miraculously, still conscious.

Dan, across the room, was still taking on the bulk of the attackers; there were three left now, who were giving him in no way an easy time. Whatever training Dan had received, though, had been a good one as he used the two swords spectacularly, his blows as graceful and as supple as water.

Phil quickly scrambled up, making to run toward Dan’s aid; however, when Dan glanced over at him, shock quickly sprang across his face.

“Duck!” was all he shouted before he retracted one of his blades and chucked it right at Phil’s head. Phil dropped back down again to his knees as half of Tamsin soared above his head, planting itself firmly into the head of the attacker who had chased behind Phil, no doubt to knock him out or finish him for good.

His attacker was definitely dead when Phil quickly went to retrieve Tamsin from their skull, the vile, red blood spluttering out of the wound. Tamsin had been sunk right into the girl’s forehead, cutting away most of the cloth around her young, delicate face. She must have been in her early twenties, hardly older than Phil but just as experienced.

Phil didn’t think about her blonde wisps of hair staining red as he returned to the battle. He didn’t think of her pale blue eyes forever staring off into another world he wasn’t a part of. He didn’t think about the flush of red creeping along her cheek.

No, he concentrated on destroying one of the two remaining warriors. Dan had killed one in the short time he had been busy. It didn’t take much to surprise them from behind. All he had to do was shove his own sword into their throat, the blade going in clean on one side and coming out the other shining with blood and bits of flesh. They fell before they even had a chance to scream.

The final warrior was now cowering on the ground in front of Dan, her mask ripped, revealing the woman’s face beneath it. Her face was cut into shreds, blood trickling down what might have once been beautiful. Her face was nearly as bad as the arm which she cradled carefully in the other hand. Dan had kicked her sword away and had the other half of Tamsin directly in front of her face, his hand steady and his face cold.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dan panted slightly, taking his eyes off her for a moment to look around at the five bodies covering the floor.

“The Hunters,” she whispered, her voice twinkling almost as much as her grin.

“Then what do you want with me?” Dan asked, his gaze snapping back to her. “Answer me!”

“To put you down, wolf,” she spat, blood flying out of her mouth as she spoke in her slight northern accent. Her voice, however, softened suddenly, and she began talking as if to herself, “We may be dead now, but we will return. Silver is your mark. Mixed is your blood.”

“Darkness is waiting,” she smiled up at Dan before pulling away the sleeve of her good arm to reveal a clawed piece of intricate metal almost resembling a nail, which she used to slash her own throat. She was still smiling when she hit the floor, dead.

There was a pause before either of them spoke, the stench of blood overpowering both of them. How had they not smelt it before, yet now it covered them?

“What was that…” Phil hissed, not moving. Dan, however, snapped back from being the warrior to just being the teenager as he was turning to see Phil.

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming quickly to check him over.

“I’m fine,” Phil nodded, brushing away the younger boy’s concern. If anyone wasn’t fine it should be Dan, yet here he was, a little covered in blood, true, but he was barely injured, bar a few cuts and bruises.

“You ever heard of a group called the Hunters?” Dan asked, biting his lip as he retracted Tamsin back into its dagger form.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Phil replied, shivering at the thought of some mad group being after Dan, “Silver is your mark?”

“Tamsin? She’s silver?” Dan wondered as he began pacing back and forth, weaving his way around corpses. “I wore silver to that ball we had. Maybe silver means wealth. It could be any number of things.”

“Mixed blood?” Phil inquired.

“Years of different Noble houses breeding with each other. I don’t know!” Dan retorted angrily, the fear clearly welling up inside him.

“Thank you,” Phil cut in suddenly, making Dan stop in his tracks.

“For what?”

“Saving my life.”

“They weren’t here to kill you,” Dan recalled, slightly bitterly.

“I know, but they could have. And after all I said, you helped me. You can actually swing a sword fucking well,” Phil explained, a slight smile creeping onto his lips.

“Now that’s not the sort of language I thought I’d hear from a prince,” Dan chuckled, turning to look at Phil.

“There are millions of things you don’t know about me,” Phil winked. Where had that come from? He didn’t know, but it made him shuffle slightly, dropping his head to look at his feet.

“Well, I would love to know them all,” Dan replied, warmly smiling back at Phil.

 


	14. Jack

Snow had started softly falling not soon after they left Izabalia and headed down the Nackati Path on a lone bay Shire horse. With cold already kissing their cheeks, Jack was at least grateful for the fur coats they were wrapped in. **  
**

Darcy, however, was not as happy. Despite all of Jack’s attempts, nothing seemed to make her comfortable: not her bear skin coat, the finest saddle in the stable, not even Jack wrapping parts of his own coat around her.

“Darcy, you okay?” Jack would ask every now and again only to get the same reply every time.

“Yes, Jack,” Darcy would sigh, huddling in closer to him and rubbing her red little nose.

“Remember what I said if anyone asks who we are?” Jack would add, just to check she remembered.

“My name is Belinda and you are my father Jacob. We’re fur traders.”

“Just like our pretend games,” Jack reassured her.

“Except... it’s not pretend anymore. Is it?” Darcy finally snivelled, her sad voice reminding him of the baby she still was to some extent who used to often bawl when her mother wasn’t there.

“No. I’m afraid it isn’t.”

“Why do I have to go, Jack?” Darcy finally interjected, letting a little of her frustration bubble over.

“Not Jack-”

“Jacob,” she corrected herself.  “Why do I have to go?”

“It’s not safe in Izabalia, not for a young princess like yourself at least. I promise you will be safe soon,” Jack promised, grasping her a little closer to his chest as they approached the next town of surely many.

Rakavick was one of those quaint little towns you often swiftly pass through and just as quickly forget. It was comprised of only a dozen or so houses and farms surrounding the village with a pub, a small market and a small statue to mark the middle of the town. It was, however, also a town full of travelers heading North or South, so luckily Darcy and Jack didn’t look too out of place.

The journey, under Louise’s instruction, was not to be grueling in pace, so it only seemed right to tie up the horse they had at the bar and try to find a bite to eat.

“Belinda, stay close to me, love,” Jack called out to Darcy as she went stumbling ahead of him into the town square, so much more neatly pebbled and organised than some of the market places in the capital.  

“You’re such a fusser, Dad. I want to get inside,” Darcy quibbled, tutting in a know-it-all way. Despite never having had a class, she was a very good actress, although it wasn’t really out of the ordinary for her to boss him around. Jack’s thoughts were interrupted, though, when they walked past the town centre and Darcy gave out a sharp gasp.

“What is it?” Jack instantly said, every nerve in his body on edge. That was, at least, before he saw what Darcy was staring at: a big, bright red circus tent with little, rickety wooden caravans surrounding it.

“Oh, please, please can we stay to watch? I’ll be super good. Look! It’s on soon,” Darcy begged, not even daring to take her eyes off the circus in case it disappeared. After all, she had never seen a real circus in the flesh before.

She didn’t look as if she would give up easily, so Jack finally sighed, saying, “I suppose we can stop to watch for a short while”.  

It was then Darcy jumped up, grabbing him and hugging him tightly, giggling a happy, “Thank you! Thank you!” before running directly towards the tent at full speed.

Despite the steep admission price, the whole town seemed to be stood crammed in the tent as the magnificent music began, signaling the start of the show. It had been many years since Jack himself had seen a circus, but truly this performance was incredible. Flashy sword fighters and throwers from the South threw their blades so accurately you would have thought them to be using magic; wild beasts roared as they were let loose of their cages, only to be calmed by their tamer a second later. Even the acrobats put on a great show, despite one of the duo’s hat falling off halfway through, caught by a delighted audience member. Maybe, Jack decided, it was worth the stop, if only to lighten Darcy’s and his own spirit.

As soon as the last bows had been taken and the music finally stopped, Jack grabbed Darcy by the hand and instead of leading her out of the tent, they headed towards where the performers had disappeared.

“Where are we going?” Darcy asked, confused, as Jack almost dragged her towards the flap.

“I just want to offer them a bit more money. They were incredible,” Jack explained, which put Darcy at ease at least.

However, the circus was far less magical behind the scenes. The slender, blonde acrobat who had lost her hat during the performance was angrily shouting at the other member of her duo, “That bloody hat cost me ten gold. How am I ever going to be able to buy another?” Her red, sparkly costume almost matched the colour of her face.

“I guess we could change the routine so I am the star,” her sneery partner replied.

“Yeah, right, Frank, we all know how that would end,” she huffed, looking as if she was almost ready to punch him square in the face. It was at that moment, though, that they both spotted Jack and Darcy looking on with mild shock.

“Excuse me, sir,” the slender acrobat started, drawing out the ‘sir,’ “what are you doing back here?”

“I just wanted to give you this,” Jack answered, passing over a small bag of gold. “You were amazing after all.”

“Eraz Jaco, where in Izabalia did you get so much money?” the acrobat Frank exclaimed as Jack winced slightly at the swearing. Thank goodness Darcy hadn’t had a chance to learn that kind of language in the Northern tongue yet.

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep it up. I’m sure you’ll end up in some court someday if you keep at it,” Jack sheepishly smiled, turning to exit while holding Darcy tight in his hand. They hadn’t been exactly as civilised as he had expected.

“Well... thank you,” the woman stuttered, unsure really of what to say, that was until a burly-looking man who had been in charge of the whole performance walked by, looking disgruntled.

“Here, Wilson, come look at what this man’s given us.”

Wilson, clearly tired from his own performance, shifted himself over, already grumbling, until he saw the bag of gold. “Well, bless the Queen of Izabalia herself, Genaouise,” he stammered, looking down at the money and back to Jack. Although he was a large man, he seemed to suddenly grow a couple inches more, clearly aware he was in front of someone who deserved his respect.

“It was nothing, honest.”

“Say, which direction are you heading?” Genaouise asked, passing the bag of gold to Wilson, who carefully secured it to his belt loop.

“We’re heading down to the East Crest to sell furs. That’s my job,” Jack blurted after a pause, having nearly forgotten the whole story he had made up.

“We didn’t ask for your life story,” Frank drawled, already growing bored of the conversation,  “And who’s this?”

“My daughter, Belinda,” Jack affirmed turning to give Darcy an encouraging look. “She really loved the performance, like myself.”

“I don’t recognise your accent, if I must say so. Where you from?” Wilson inquired, looking very carefully at the pair standing in front of him.

“Evergreen,” Jack babbled, saying the first remotely northern town that came into his head.

“Really? Because you look and sound very much like some nobleman,” Frank mocked, giving another of his cruel smiles as he looked from Jack to Darcy.

“Leave the poor bastard alone, Frank,” Genaouise mumbled, giving Frank a small shove.

“Sod off, you wurich qooz,” Frank chided, the cruel language already making Jack cover Darcy’s ears as they turned to leave. That was, before the large and muscular Wilson blocked their way out.

“Sorry, can I just ask you one more thing?” Wilson asked, giving Darcy and Jack a pondering look. “If you’re a fur trapper, then why’s a common pig carting round the Princess of Izabalia?”

There was a long pause where neither side knew what to do until Jack ran at Wilson full strength, knocking him flat on his back.

“Run, Darcy!” Jack bellowed as Wilson tried to grab at the little feet now running past his head, the two acrobats still too stunned to move. But then they did, scampering after Darcy who, sadly, was not a swift runner on account of her small size. Likewise, Jack was no match for the chiseled brute that was Wilson, who quickly threw Jack off himself, pinning him to the ground with only his feet, the mud that covered the ground squishing into Jack’s face and mouth.

It wasn’t long before Darcy was hauled back in, dress now torn and tears streaking her face as Frank gripped her hands with a death grip, Genaouise strolling in behind them with a short sword in hand. Heaven knew where she got it from.

“I told you I thought was it was her, the tiny Princess of the Mountains. Come on, grab the little one. I’m sure the Butcher will pay a hefty bit of gold for the traitor’s scum,” Wilson declared, a wicked smile plastered on his pale face.

“What about him?” Frank indicated, looking at where Jack was still pinned under Wilson’s feet.

“Kill the pig,” Genaouise smirked, striding towards where Jack was lying. This was the end of him, surely. A quick slit across the throat was all it would take.

“Jack!” Darcy screamed as Genaouise approached her faithful friend, halting Genaouise in her tracks.

“Jack?” Frank urged the girl, shaking her violently.

“Jack Farrowhead,” Jack coughed from the floor. It was the only way out of death -- admit who he was and suffer the consequences, whatever they may be.

“Of course, look at that... Farrowhead silver. Fine that is.” Genaouise blurted, drawing Jack’s sword from his belt. Silver and steel glinted in the light. The sword’s make was unquestionable from its fine finish and the bird’s symbol engraved near the base. It was the only thing Jack refused to leave at the capital, now saving his life in a very different way than that which he had imagined.

“Well, well then… not only the Princess of Pricks but the Queen’s Sworn Protector and heir of the Farrowheads. I’m sure we can get a nice bit of profit off this. Chuck them in one of the caravans. I told you we could find them for her. I even had the chains all crafted,” Wilson chuckled darkly as Frank dragged Darcy behind him out of Jack’s sight to Needle knew where. Only Genaouise stayed with Wilson, gazing down at Jack.

“But what about money for their keep?” She asked, purring in a sinister way.

“I’m sure they can earn their keep. After all, it’s a long way yet to the Mark,” Wilson grinned, kicking Jack first in the stomach, making him curl up before kicking him hard in the head. It wasn’t much, but it put him out stone cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I name a character after a dish on the Great British Bake Off? Yes, yes I did. Fight me.


	15. Perdita

It turns out that gaining the magical power of death has an impact not only on your life but on your wardrobe as well. Out had gone every single ridiculous traditional dress -- she had made sure of that -- and now measurements had been taken for a whole new wardrobe to protect the world from her. Gloves, long sleeves and dresses that stayed close to her figure and trailed behind her had been constructed and now were carefully tucked away in her wardrobe. Perdita, despite the odds, was determined to bring long-necked clothing back into fashion, even though it had never been in fashion in the first place, for now that was all she could wear.

Ever since that day, no one had dared looked her in the eye. In fact, they had initially thrown her into a cupboard for seven days in fear. The dungeons, it seemed, were too good for her, but her room too inappropriate, so they locked her in a cupboard, cold, scared and bleeding for seven fucking days. They had only let her out when she threatened to use her own power on herself.

Yet now here she was, dressed in midnight black, looking like death itself. Everything had changed, but nothing had. After all, Dodie was still gone, her brother the king of some distant land, her father was still sick, and everyone still avoided her. At least people had gone from fearing her to at least respecting her from a distance.

After being let out of her confinement, she had set about learning about the power she had been gifted with, some said from Needle himself, though for what reason was anyone’s guess. Through many long days in her room alone with as many mice as she wished, she figured out that it worked best through direct contact, although it was possible to send out a concentrated wave if the thing she wished to claim was in sight. If the mouse was hidden, it survived, but as soon as it came into her vision, it started coughing blood.

She no longer was granted any servants for her alone, but if she needed anything, no one denied it of her. She was, after all, a woman now; she had even bled in more than one way too. And dressed with her favourite features exaggerated -- her long neck, her curves, her small, blooming breasts, long ginger curls tied off her face -- no one could claim her to be anything but, at least not to her face. She had been broken into womanhood, but she would not let it break her.

Gazes followed her as she glided through the castle towards the main hall, finally deemed worthy enough to return to society, even if it was as a weapon. No, no one had called her a weapon, but that what she felt like. There was no denying the fact her father had encouraged her experiments and even offered the Captain of the Guard to assist her in any other further training. It was her father that had insisted she get measured for a set of armour ‘just in case.’ It was her father who had insisted she wear her most formidable dress today around the castle. It was her father who had secretly designed a hidden part of the dungeon in case he needed to contain death itself.

He hadn’t told her, but she had other ways of finding out. Why else would her seamstress take very careful measurements of both her wrists and ankles for ‘jewellery’ that never arrived with her clothes or the castle guard declare they needed to extend the dungeon conveniently just after her magical powers were discovered. Plus, every single guard now wore thick protection that covered their skin. It was quite clear to Perdita that if she ever stepped out of line, her father would deal with her, far worse than locking a thirteen-year-old in a cupboard.

All this flashed through Perdita’s mind as she sat smiling down next to her father at the raised table in the main hall, all eyes on her to see what she would do. They thought her to be evil, insane, powerful, none of which she was. She was no better off than she was before becoming a woman, the sad truth of it hitting her. Women were still owned and used by men, no better than children or possessions. Perdita still smiled despite that. She still smiled while eating. She smiled at her father. She smiled at the world as if it was not her master and she its slave.

She did not smile, though, when the urgent messenger burst into the hall and strode towards the high table, sweaty and panting with a pained look across his face.

“Lord Ren Ottidite…” the man spluttered, quickly falling onto his knees in front of the high table, “I have an urgent message for you.” The message in question, something Perdita had not previously noticed, was grasped firmly in the man’s hand, a seal too small to see binding it closed.

“Then speak, man. I hide no secrets from my court or family,” Perdita’s father commanded, not a line in his face moving or betraying any emotion as the messenger rose to his feet, giving a shaky nod before breaking the seal.

“To Lord Ren Ottidite, Commander of the Pavo Woods and the Southern Region of Miloria.

It is with a saddened heart we must inform you of the passing of your son. The King of Izabalia was last seen the night before Thread last blessed the land, fleeing the castle for an unknown reason. He later returned, his head in a box, butchered by the Lady of the Mark, Hazel Sallow, also known as the Butcher. We will return what remains we have of him where you will it. Yours faithfully, Louise Snofrid, Queen of Izabalia.” The messenger finished, his hands shaking. The whole room was silent, no one even daring to breathe until Lord Ottidite had spoken.

“My son is dead?” Ren Ottidite finally cracked out. Gone was his stern expression, replaced with one of shattered-glass lines covering his face. He had never looked as old as in that moment.

“Murdered, my lord,” the messenger replied, passing up the letter to him, his hands still shaking badly. He couldn’t look any of them in the face.

“The bitch dares call herself Queen, and he has been dead but a few days. She couldn’t even bear him a son and she dares.” Ren stumbled, his sadness twisting into something like rage.

“Father, the time for words is over,” Perdita interrupted, more confident than she felt. Her father gazed at her in pain, although he didn’t truly see her, whether it was for the grief or the Killing calm that passed over her face that was not his daughter. No, it was a warrior. A weapon.

Perdita stood on her chair, too small to command an audience with her short height, and looked around at the hall, every eye fixed on her again, but she was not there. For hot rage consumed her as she looked around at this world, her sad little one trapped in a kingdom she would never control or change. A world where her brother had been murdered so far from the home he loved. A world that had granted her a gift. And with that she addressed the court, the words tumbling full of passion from her lips.

“For too long we have lost without putting up a fight. Take for example when we surrendered my ancestress. Perdita Ottidite was taken by the Gallaways after the Battle of the Woods. We let them take her as a prize and went home licking our wounds, now the North’s obedient dogs. The Damarks stole another, May Ottidite, who was the eldest of Alexander and Allia Ottidite when she was no older than fourteen. She died in childbirth before she could ever see her country again. We had two other Ladies, Winnie and Ivory Ottidite, sold into marriage to the Gallaways for peace and a third, my beautiful sister, now the heir of our land, is on her way to be married. My brother may be dead, but I will not let the same be said of my sister, my twin. I wish never to hear those words. I have already lost a part of me, but I will not lose my other half.

“The North, it seems, has forgotten that we were once a kingdom of great wealth and power that has been chained up. It has been eight generations since that time and over five hundred years. Well, I say it is time to break that chain.

“We will fight, whether that be in the Riverlands or the Mountains of Izabalia. I don’t know, truly, who killed my brother: whether it was this Lady Sallow or even the ‘Queen’ of Izbalia herself to be rid of him, but I know one thing for sure. Blood will be poured across the snow of the North in revenge for my brother.

“We have double the amount of men of any Northern Kingdom. We have double the amount of courage of any Northern army, and we have myself and my father to lead you. So do you stand with me to return our Queen Dodie?” Perdita exclaimed, bending down and banging her cup against the table so it rang out. And, to her surprise, it was answered.

Hundreds of cups banged against rows of tables in unison, all joined with hearty, confident aye’s from every man and woman seated.

“Do you stand with me to make the snow turn red?” Perdita shouted, slamming her cup down again.

“Aye,” the crowd shouted back louder.

“Then stand with us and fight for Pavo Woods to not belong to the North anymore. Stand for King Ren Ottidite and Princess Perdita,” she called, banging her cup again and helping her father face the people of his Kingdom, her home.

Her father had been watching her carefully all the while, and when she pulled him up, he was no longer sad. Her anger had infected him. So he raised his goblet high and bellowed, “To Pavo Woods and my son!” before taking a mighty drink mimicked by the rest of the court.

“To Dodie and her safe journey home,” Perdita said quietly, mostly to herself but also to her Father. All he could offer, though, was a nod.

“We make plans immediately,” Ren Ottidite explained to his commanders sitting nearby, tucking his chair in before halting to look at Perdita. “Come, Perdita, my beautiful daughter. It is time someone in this family learnt the art of war.”

That shocked her. Whether it was because she had never heard her father call her beautiful or because of the offer, she couldn’t tell, but she took the hand her father had offered her, the gloved hand interlocking with his fingers, as he helped her clamber down from the chair and led her out of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is why Perdita is my favourite character!


	16. Dan

It took several more weeks before the party finally reached the capital of all of Miloria and Phil’s home, The East Crest.

After the attack, many more guards had been positioned round Dan and Phil’s tent, but apart from that, not much had changed. If anything, in the weeks travelling together, Dan and Phil had become closer, almost inseparable. Mason, the Needle himself, said it looked like a friendship to rival his and Damian’s back in the day. And despite the fact the journey had taken a week more than anticipated, it didn’t matter. 

Dan learnt about cards, the East Crest, Phil and his past, and so much more. Phil, for example, for a large portion of his childhood, when not travelling round the kingdom, had been living at The Purple Coast, which he ruled over, in a castle mostly used for housing and training the kingdom’s army.

“That’s how I am so good at sword fighting,” Phil explained as they rode past the golden corn fields of Pareelay.

“It also explains how you’re such a soppy romantic when it comes to stories,” Dan teased, being careful not to fall off his horse, something he had yet to master.

“I can’t help it! Stories of knights and great battles are in my veins,” Phil chided, swiftly riding off in a huff. Their little arguments never lasted long, though; it was all in play.

Dan in turn told him all about the Damarks, his upbringing, and the only other thing he knew about… farming, something Phil found oddly fascinating and which Dan couldn’t bear to discuss.

“So you just plant tiny seeds and they grow into, like, food?” Phil would ask daily as he looked at all the corn they passed, swaying gently like flags in the wind.

“Yeah, it’s not sorcery,” Dan would scoff. How anyone could be so interested in such a boring subject he couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s just so fascinating. I’ve never thought about it before,” Phil would muse, looking at a stalk of corn he might have grabbed in passing.

However, as much as Dan hated talking about farming while travelling, it was all over too soon as towns became closer together, and before Dan knew it, they were riding through the streets of the East Crest. The unintentional parade to the castle had to have been one of the weirdest experiences of Dan’s life. Why on earth would people line the streets to see him? Back in the Riverlands, everyone knew him -- gods, even the wild homeless children. Never in his life had people cheered to see him or thrown flowers at his horse's feet.

As soon as they reached the glorious and massively extravagant castle known as Garverta, the crowds dispersed and were instead replaced by an army of servants all dressed in white, fluttering like birds down the steps before flustering over the luggage and the Royal family, helping them disembark. In the midst of the organised chaos of bringing in all the clothes and horses, a man dressed almost entirely in black, despite the heat of Needle glaring down on the party, drifted up beside Dan.

He had a thin face not yet wrinkled with age, but he was old enough to be Dan’s father. Long, black hair curled down to his shoulders, starting to grey a little, yet he was still fit enough to be called handsome. Although they had never met, Dan knew a great deal about him thanks to Phil’s lessons on the East Crest, for standing beside him was Kivit Calivest, Head Councilor of the East Crest and the Needle’s right hand man.

“An unexpected pleasure to meet you,” the man smiled, dipping his head in respect, his eyes not quite meeting Dan’s. His voice sounded like money, rich yet polished.

“You know who I am?” Dan asked, confused and slightly taken aback.

“Indeed, a messenger was sent ahead of you to inform us of your arrival, hence the crowds you no doubt met along the way,” Kivit explained, looking on at the dispersing crowds while playing idly with a ring around his finger. “It is not usual to have crowds lining the streets, despite the love of the people for the Needle and his family.”

“Well, I am truly honoured then,” Dan admitted. Dan was about to stop someone from leading his horse away when Kivit suddenly spoke again, stepping in front of Dan to get a better look at him. His golden eyes flashed like coins in his sockets.

“You look exactly like your father. You know that?”

“You're not the first to say that,” Dan nodded, reaching up to ruffle his dark brown hair, which curled at the ends when wet, just like his father’s.

“Forgive me. I have not introduced myself. I am-” Kivit started before Dan cut him off.

“Kivit Calivest. I have heard only great things about you,” Dan expressed, bowing his head in respect.

“I would have certainly hoped so. Excuse me,”  Kivit pardoned himself, bowing again before gliding over to greet the Needle. A second later, Phil was at Dan’s side, his mystic light eyes darting between Kivit and Dan.

“So, you’ve finally met Kivit,” Phil piped, talking in a slightly hushed tone.

“He seemed…”

“Ominous?” Phil interrupted, almost reading Dan’s mind.

“He does give off that vibe...” Dan pondered, his voice trailing off as the family started making their way indoors. He probably should have accompanied Lyra in, but she seemed far too preoccupied to remember, thankfully.  

“Come, I’ll show you around, though I am afraid I might not have long to do so. My ‘bride-to-be’ is meant to be arriving shortly.” Phil sighed melodramatically.

“Needle help us all. Come on, Chris,” Dan chuckled as Chris sauntered over. Chris, for the most part, had been very lazy when it came to protecting Dan over the trip, not that that was unusual. He had been far too preoccupied with wooing all the village girls or ladies they had met along the way -- not that he was successful in any way.

The Castle was even more astonishing on the inside, which was all made of cool sandstone and marble. However, they hadn’t been in the castle for thirty seconds before Phil drew his sword to parry a sword coming suddenly from behind one of the pillars. Although Dan jumped back from the deft blow, Phil merely giggled at the sight of it.

“You didn’t think I had forgotten about you?” Phil laughed, lowering the sword as a young man stepped out from behind the pillar, the sword lazily gripped in his hand.

“You have to always be on guard, Phil,” the curly-haired gentleman drawled in a slight southern accent, tucking his sword away with ease. He must have been the same age as Phil, although he was nothing like him. He had shockingly curly brown hair and cunning green eyes, very much matching his personality.  

“Especially with you around. Dan, Chris, this is my sworn protector, PJ,” Phil assured the group, sheathing his own sword in turn.

“A pleasure as always to see new faces. Needle knows we need some around here,” PJ remarked, bowing his head.

“Come, PJ. I was just about to give them the grand tour,” Phil broke in, already leading the way towards what looked like the main hall.

“So you’re from the Riverlands?” PJ observed, gesturing to the coat of arms Dan wore.

“Born and raised,” Dan smirked.

“I am from the south myself, but I have heard tell of the miraculous bridges you’ve built, like the Galweed Crossing or the revolutionary farming methods you have created,” PJ marveled, gesturing like crazy with his hands as he fell into step with Dan.

“PJ fancies himself a philosopher of sorts,” Phil butted in, looking back as he led them through the Main Hall, grand and massively over-the-top just as Dan had expected it to be.

“A man’s sword is only as quick as his brain,” PJ calmly explained.

“Too bad the ladies prefer a quick tongue to a quick sword,” Chris insinuated, a gigantic smirk stretched across his face as he raised his eyebrows at PJ. There was a pause as everyone stopped to look at Chris, but before long all of the boys were laughing, tears running down their faces, with Chris already chortling that he was sure the girls loved PJ’s “long sword action.”

The rest of the tour passed in a flurry of more dirty sword jokes from Chris, embarrassment from PJ, and laughter from Dan and Phil; Dan hardly remembered what they even saw. However, it seemed all too soon that a messenger was running up to them, inviting them to the front of the castle to finally meet Phil’s fiancee.

All the laughter quickly died after that as they solemnly walked to the Castle gates, Phil stone-faced, fixing his hair or shirt constantly. They arrived just as the carriage did, pearly white and covered in flowers traditional of Pavo Woods. Phil quickly walked down the steps to stand behind his family, PJ hotly in pursuit, but Dan just stayed lurking out of the way with Chris, not wanting to intrude. The carriage finally came to a stop in front of the Gallaways before the door opened and the world stopped.

For there, climbing carefully from the carriage came the most beautiful of girls, flowers covering her. Dressed in the traditional outfit of Pavo Woods, the neat, low cut of the white shirt underneath the darker apron showed off her pale, soft skin to the world, yet she did not seem to be boasting. Lush, brown curls were pinned up and platted off her face, and placed atop them was a delicate crown of flowers, which mirrored those of her carriage. There was no doubt about it that she was the most beautiful girl Dan had ever seen.

Phil, almost taken aback, swiftly bowed, oozing all the grace and kindness he had shown Dan he possessed. Dodie in turn curtsied, smiling gratefully all the while. Not a word was said, but Phil offered her his arm, which she accepted, and they glided up the steps into the palace.

It felt like a punch to the gut for some reason, one Dan needed to feel, but a punch all the same. Why had he really come here? Not for some girl he didn’t intend to marry, and not for a stupid dream. No, deep in his heart, he knew he had come for Phil. And now it felt like in a matter of hours of arriving here, he had lost that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to @transdimensional-void (on tumblr) for Chris’s joke. We spent way too long trying to think up a good joke.


	17. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really super dark chapter. TW: Extreme violence, child abuse, fire, and torture.

It didn’t take long before Jack lost count of how many days they had been traveling. He never left the caravan, and meals came infrequently, so he gave up quite quickly, trying instead to sleep through it all. He had woken up still covered in mud and blood in his small, dirty caravan of a prison, smaller than the stable he would give to a horse. Not that the small space mattered much, as he was chained up so tightly he could barely move. His hands and neck were loosely chained to the wall, his legs cuffed together making it near impossible to sleep.

The only good thing about his situation was that he got to see Darcy every now and again, who was still perfectly healthy. Part of Wilson's preposterous plan was for Darcy to earn her and Jack’s keep by performing in the circus every chance they got. Almost every time Jack saw her was just before she went on stage, and Darcy was quite happy to tell him all about her act.

She was their human puppet act, “a doll so realistic she actually looks human,” they claimed. They dressed her in a small, puffy blue dress, did her makeup to make her skin look like porcelain and added a wig to complete her look before they tied her up with strings and sent her on stage.

“I just go wherever the strings lead me and look pretty,” Darcy would explain, plastering on the same morbidly happy smile she would have to hold throughout the show. “It’s a bit hard, in a way,” she would say, glancing back towards the door to make sure nobody was listening.  

Darcy never said, but Jack knew what would happen if they did hear. On more than one occasion he had been able to spot the bruises hidden under her makeup, and he had sometimes been able to hear her dainty little screams after her performances were over. But she went on like a little trooper, smiling and being that little girl she was inside, at least around Jack.

She once remarked after what must have been a few weeks traveling that she was starting to like Jack’s little beard he had unintentionally started growing, giving it a little rub with her fingers before giggling.

By her final performance, though, she was too tired to even really talk, choosing instead to sleep next to Jack, cuddling him. It had been clever of them, Jack had to admit, to keep Jack in chains while Darcy worked for them. She could not survive running away without Jack, and in the state they both were in, running away seemed all the more impossible. Jack hadn’t seen a good meal for a long time, and sleep was difficult, if not unthinkable.

Despite it all, he was still contemplating an escape route for her, which was hard considering he had never really been outside the caravan. They were swiftly running out of time and couldn’t be far from the Mark now, a day or two at best. Yet Jack fell into a daze before Darcy left, not even getting a chance to say goodbye to her for what might be the last time. The circus music was drifting in and about his ears, its plonky tunes penetrating his mind. Lights whirled around his mind so vividly, Jack could actually imagine he was there, watching Darcy dance her swan song -- that sad, small expression glued on her face as her limbs jerked about for the jeering crowds. It was pitifully beautiful. Louise would kill him if he didn’t die or kill himself first. He had failed after all. What else was waiting for him outside this caravan but torture and pain?

It was then the music suddenly stopped as the world was plunged into chaos, screams and fighting echoing from the tent just outside. He wasn’t dreaming anymore, though; he could hear the fighting.

It became blurry after that, Jack’s memory having been set ablaze. There was a strong smell of smoke, and loud steps thundered about him, but they didn’t really register. A light! Was that a light? Finally, something warm -- a fire flickering its own little dance near Jack’s feet, taunting him almost.

Needle and Thread, death was finally here to claim him.

The pleasant warmth quickly filled the caravan, his chains glowing against his skin. It had certainly been awhile since he had been this warm. He didn’t even care that his skin was starting to feel like it was boiling.

Then the coughing started as the flames grew higher, his eyes streaming so he could barely see anything. He didn’t have the energy to struggle. Just make it quick. He deserved death, so he let his lungs claw his insides for some oxygen. As if he hadn’t been dizzy enough before, now the world spun like mad. The screams outside had been lulled to a background noise by the roaring replacing them. But then a faint, heavenly voice pierced above it all.

“He’s in there! Jack’s in there!”

Darcy. Darcy was safe at least. The door burst open at some point, actual daylight flooding in. He must have looked a sorry sight. But the man who was at the door was not Wilson, Darcy or any of the other members of the circus. Jack only had a chance to see an Izabalia insignia before he plunged into darkness.


	18. Louise

The early morning was glistening with the hints of warmer weather, Needle’s boastful red glow making the pale blue ice appear a most exquisite shade of violet. Stillness had overcome the castle garden as Louise drifted through snow that gently crunched beneath her boots. Despite Louise having not slept a wink the previous night, the world around her seemed heavy with the stuff of dreams.

The coat she had haphazardly thrown on did little to protect her against the freezing mist covering the world, but she hardly felt it tumble across her cheek as she shuffled about. Jack. Darcy. They had heard nothing from them in weeks, and the bird carrying the news of Darcy’s safety had certainly not arrived. Jack should have already been back by her side. Instead, the stretches of a frozen garden that never bloomed with life stood beside her instead.

In panic, she had sent a legion of Soldiers after them, but still no news came. So every morning she had walked about the garden, unseen and unheard by anyone. She waded out, no matter the weather, towards the highest point of the grounds overlooking the surrounding city and distant fields to sit by the frozen fountain and wait. And when she saw no sign of them, she was not ashamed to admit that she would let loose a few tears.

The fountain itself was not frozen; in fact, it wouldn’t be uncommon to find a swan or some other bird resting somewhere across its vast surface. Today, though, it was flat and still, as if the ice had finally frozen over its smooth surface. The world seemed to be holding its breath as she sat down by the water’s edge, the sprawling toy box town below waiting to begin another game.

She wished Jack was here to see it. She wished Darcy was safely tucked away. Needle and Thread, if anything had happened to them… then she might as well plunge herself into the cold, dark water so close to her and never return. So like every morning for the past month, she let the tears snowball down her cheeks, her hands automatically going to cover them.

But the morning was shattered suddenly when a howling screech erupted as if from nowhere and yet everywhere. It was them, surely -- murderers or bandits coming to kill her too, those who had taken Jack and Darcy. Louise bolted up, stumbling in the snow, with her eyes still tight shut, putting her wet hands between her and whoever it was, screaming back just as loudly at them. However the only answer she got in return was the loud crack of ice and silence.

When Louise next peeled her eyes slowly open, she just caught in the corner of her eye the fleeing fox disappearing into the bushes. However, that was significantly less important to her than the massive ice sculpture that had not only encapsulated the bush where the fox must have been but which stretched across the whole fountain, tracing back to her fingertips. The world had frozen again, but this time it was forced.

It was unlike anything Louise had seen before, the ice having frozen in beautiful, arching bubbles. Water had solidified mid-drip off of imaginary branches and fountain spouts to create a deadly sharp but glorious piece of art. The whole thing was decorated with icicles, frozen water droplets and a fine layer of swirling frost. Where the fox had been were the most deadly icicles, and all of this flowed right back to her palms. They actually still had frozen tears turned solid stuck on them, little patches of frost caught around her palm and fingertips. And all Louise could think was, How did something so beautiful come from me?

She didn’t think about the fact it was impossible, that she was probably crazy, or that this was scary. She just stood in awe, forgetting everything else. Her past was irrelevant, and her predicaments were fleeting. If she had that in her… then what else could she create that was so breathtaking? It was already melting away back into water in the fountain, but the image was imprinted on her mind. So she walked back to the castle, her lips sealed, as her kingdom began to wake around her.

* * *

 

Back in the warmth of her bedroom, Louise brushed away the frost from her hands, watching it melt away as she rubbed her hands before the fire. The frost may have gone, but her heart was still frozen, hard and beating with a new sort of adrenaline. Before long, Louise’s maids burst in and scurried about getting her ready for breakfast, the gown she chose being her own personal favourite puff sleeve violet dress. Neither one of them sensed the change, but Louise did, especially when she pinned her badge to her chest, the gleaming family emblem of her forefathers proudly sitting there.

Breakfast was waiting, but just as she was about to leave her room with her maids, a sharp rapping came at the door. Louise tipped her head slightly, and one of her maids swiftly opened the door to reveal a very stressed-looking messenger, one of those belonging to her cousin Thomas, judging by the traditional Snofrid colours he wore.

“Your Majesty,” he exclaimed in a breathy voice, bowing low, “I am afraid I must beg of you a moment alone. I come bearing news from the Nackati Path.” Louise didn’t even need to nod her head before her maids had disappeared. So instead she stood ready to receive this news, whatever it may be. She would not cry.

“Please, tell me your news,” she requested in a calm, slightly deeper voice that sounded like it was full of heavy snow.

“I pray you sit, for what I bring is not news you will wish to hear.” The man fretted as Louise slowly perched on the end of her bed. “It is not news of the Princess or Lord Farrowhead’s location I am afraid, if that was what you were expecting.”

“Then what has happened?”

“Lady Sallow has set up a bounty for the capture of your daughter and anyone else of your court,” the man finally confessed, looking at Louise for a reaction, no doubt expecting the worst.

“Is this from a reliable source?” Louise slowly asked.

“It is practically common knowledge down south of Izabalia. It has only recently come North,” the man explained, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket.  

“I do not need a tissue, sir,” Louise harshly snapped, staring the man down until he put it back into his pocket.

“Would you like to be left alone for a bit?” he asked nervously.

“Of course not. Call the council together. It’s time to plan,” Louise stated, standing and making her way towards the door.

“For what?” the messenger asked, totally confused.

“War. The Sallows have pushed the boundaries too far this time. It’s time for me to become a true Queen and earn my title -- by dealing with this issue once and for all. Tell my cousin to call the council together,” Louise confessed, her voice low and quiet. “Besides, Hazel only understands violence. So let's finally answer her.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong independent Louise?! Hella yes.


	19. Dan

Without Phil beside him, the Castle seemed infinitely bigger. The prince was so occupied with looking after Dodie now, he had almost forgotten Dan it seemed. Chris was just as useless, unsurprisingly slipping away at every available moment to chase after some girl. PJ was always hiding or watching over Phil, so that left Dan with one other friend in the East Crest: his betrothed.

Lyra, who was really quite lovely, did her best every time they were together, taking Dan on tours of the gardens or down to the markets, but she was not like her brother Phil at all. Her main interests were the current fashions and courtly gossip, none of which amused Dan. Then there were her attempts to bring up the conversation of marriage, a discussion that sickened Dan so much he would avoid it as much as humanly possible.

Truly, in those couple of weeks Dan’s best friend was himself. Needle and Thread, he deserved a bit of self care time anyway. Most days he would climb the tallest tower, Raven Rest, and look out towards the East, towards the Purple Coast whose plum outline was a haze across the horizon. The whole world seemed gorgeous from the top of the tower, red or blue of the suns’ light dyeing the courtyard and city beyond the walls.

Word must have gotten round that he was in a mood, for as soon as Phil heard, he came to find Dan sitting in his usual spot, his legs crossed as he looked over the parapet.

“You shouldn’t sit so close to the edge, not when there isn’t much of a balcony,” Phil softly whispered as he sat down beside Dan, no doubt afraid his voice would make him jump.

“You shouldn’t sneak up like that then,” Dan smiled as he shuffled to the side so Phil could join him. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Needle had just started its slow descent towards the skyline, throwing a deeper radiance across the whole of the East Crest.

“Yeah. The world seems to slow when the Gods disappear.” Phil sighed, his gaze fixed on the skyline. It seemed forever before Dan finally got up the courage to ask the fateful question.

“How’s Dodie?”

“She’s fine. Lyra?” Phil drawled, meeting Dan’s unflinching eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was so into fashion?”

“Needle and Thread, I try at all costs not to listen to her whenever she witters on about it,” Phil chuckled softly.

“What about Dodie. Does she have any passion for fashion?” Dan scoffed, the idea of Phil being dragged around some dress shop himself making him giggle.

“Only what's in down in the South. She’s very quiet for the most part, but very talented. She knows how to play at least ten instruments and makes some beautiful needlework.” He paused for a moment. “But I didn’t come here to talk about Dodie.”

“What did you come here to discuss then?” Dan inquired, tensing up slightly.  

“Well, I need to visit the Purple Coast in the next couple of days, what with me ruling it and all. And I have been away for sometime… I trust my men with dealing with the work, but-”

“-Just cut to the point,” Dan interrupted.

“Would you like to come with me?” Phil finally asked, looking Dan dead in the eyes.

“What, to the Purple Coast?”

“I had asked Dodie, but she’s hotly awaiting the arrival of some letter from her sister and is refusing to budge. She’s a twin, you know,” Phil rambled, losing track of his original point.

“So I’m your second choice.”

“First at heart. But I had to invite her first as courtesy to my engagement.” He added after a thoughtful silence, “We could invite Lyra along if that would please yo-”

“No!” Dan yelled a little too loudly. “I mean, she wouldn’t want to do anymore traveling, I am sure.”

“Then it’s settled. You and I will set off for a week at the Purple Coast tomorrow.”

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

 

Early next morning, after an incredibly short dusk, Dan and Phil, and a few soldiers, left the city and set off at a quick pace down the Seaworthing Road towards Phil’s northern castle, named Dunstanborough. Thanks to the grueling pace Phil had set, the group reached Dunstanborough’s Gates a few hours after midday. Dan had to admit he had been half asleep for most of the journey, focused on staying on his horse’s back, but when they arrived at the Castle, trumpets blaring, he finally looked down towards the glistening beach.

The sand seemed to glimmer back at him, the swirls of magenta, gold and lilac-yellows shimmering as the sea washed over them. He had read that due to the coral and minerals around the area, the beach had become increasingly coloured. However, the locals apparently preferred to think that it was caused by Dragon fire baking the sand a million years ago.

Phil must have spotted Dan staring out towards the sea because he instantly said, “We can go down for a walk as soon as we are done unpacking, if you want?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s too late to deal with all this admin stuff today anyway. I’ll just make a few necessary calls around the castle and meet you by your room.”

“I’d love to go for a walk.” Dan beamed, sitting up as Dunstanborough’s gates opened.  

“Great. I suggest you go get changed then. You smell like horse shit.” Phil winked before riding off ahead to meet the lines of guards waiting for him.

“Hey!” Dan called after Phil, chuckling, before galloping to catch up.

Sure enough, Phil knocked on Dan’s door a few minutes after he was done getting changed. Dan only had to open up the door a little before he was laughing.

“What in Needle are those?” Dan sniggered, looking at Phil who was casually leaning against the door in the most flamboyant baggy shorts Dan had ever seen.

“These are traditional East Crest robes, I’ll have you know,” Phil explained, giving a little twirl that caused his pants to jiggle.

“You look utterly ridiculous.”

“Says you!” Phil protested as they set off down the corridor.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Dan asked, looking down at his traditional nobleman’s clothes, a completely normal fashion choice.

“You make me look crazy with all your fancy clothes. Although, you’ve got such a squishy nose,” Phil giggled, poking Dan on the nose.

“Hey, don’t squish my nose,” Dan blushed, swatting Phil’s hand away.

“Try and stop me,” Phil shouted, running down the corridor  without caring who saw him. So Dan did the only thing he could do.

The chase lasted all the way to the beach, the small guard Phil had brought with him quickly marching behind them while trying to look respectable. Phil, who was already barefooted, sprinted onto the sand with ease while Dan stripped off his own shoes before finally catching up with him.

“Bet you want to take off that leather coat now, don’t you?” Phil smirked as they fell into step, and Dan took his coat off a second later.

He was no doubt red in the face now, the warm sand between his toes and the scorching gaze of Needle not helping. But there was a sharp, cool breeze from the north, and the sea washing around their feet was much more temperate.

Phil waded directly into the sea for most of the walk, saying that it cleared your head, so Dan of course had no choice but to join him. Dan would have thought it would be uncomfortable. but once his legs became used to the water, it felt like he was almost walking on air or floating, with the sea gently lapping around his thighs.

To their right, people from the nearby villages worked on the sand, fixing netting or weaving new nets. The children ran about the sand searching for odd trinkets while the men at a distance dragged fine nets over and through the sand.

“What are they doing?” Dan eventually asked, pointing them out to Phil.

“Who?”

“Those fishermen over there.”

“They’re not fishermen, you idiot. They are collecting mermaid charms,” Phil explained, not even batting an eyelash.

“Now your talk matches your clothes,” Dan snickered.

“Mermaid charms are a type of seashell, you idiot,” Phil sighed, pausing to look into the shallow water before plucking a cream-coloured shell from the waves. “Here.”

“Well what do they use them for?” Dan implored, turning the shell over in his fingers

“They crush them to make extravagant and lucky sword hilts.” Phil remarked, pointing to something inside the shell. “Look here, see the way it almost has a rainbow trapped inside.”

Sure enough, hidden inside was a reflective rainbow that only appeared when the sun touched it, sending back in return a spectacular display of colour. No wonder people found them lucky.

“What other marvels could your beach possibly hold?” Dan joked as they continued, shoving the shell in his pocket.

“Dragon teeth good enough for you?” Phil bubbled, running back to the shore and pulling out a small green and white object he must have spotted.

“Now you’re just encouraging the local’s tales,” Dan sighed, wading in to join Phil.

“Maybe, but in tales of old, Dragons are meant to have intricate patterns etched into their bones. That there is just a worn down fragment of a tooth,” Phil proudly claimed, handing over to Dan the tooth-shaped object.

“More like a bit of pottery,” Dan reasoned before looking up to see Phil on his knees in the sand, “What are you doing now?”

“Looking for a sun stone. Have a go. If you find a red one, you're more like Needle, and if you find a blue one,” Phil gasped, pulling a blue, small stone out of the ground, “you’re more like Thread.”

It took Dan a minute to find one, but when he pulled out a small, red stone, Phil almost knowingly confessed, “Just like I thought. Needle through and through.”

“You and your East Crest traditions,” Dan jested, pocketing the two odd trinkets before they continued.

“Come on, we’re nearly there,” Phil chided as he scampered ahead.

“Where are we going?” Dan moaned as he tried to keep up.

“To my favourite place. Mark, you can just wait here. We won’t go far,” Phil shouted, calling back to one of the guards before running off towards a big rock planted in the middle of the beach.

“What is that?”

“The Crab Rocks,” Phil smiled back as he started taking careful leaps from rock to rock as they neared the main structure.

“Please don’t tell me there are crabs in there…” Dan fretted as he carefully stepped onto the first rock, nearly falling off instantly. It was slippy. “What’s going on, Phil?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to show you something. Didn’t want them to see my secret cave now did I?”

“Please don’t tell me that’s a euphemism or something,” Dan said before promptly slipping off another rock.

“No, there is a literal cave round here. Well, it disappears at high tide, but since it’s low tide,” Phil explained, leading Dan around the base rock, “it should still be here.”

Phil scrambled through the small entrance first before Dan followed, his eyes taking a moment to adjust before he could really see anything. Once they had, though, he could see everything. Little clumps of green seaweed cascaded down the walls like banners while many small stalactites formed gorgeous structures like mini chandeliers hung from the ceiling. And although the entrance had been small, many smaller holes in the wall allowed red light to pierce through the darkness.

“It’s beautiful,” Dan murmured, too dumbfounded to really speak as he turned around on the spot, his feet kicking up little dust clouds about him.

“No one can see us here from the beach,” Phil whispered, turning to look Dan now directly in the eye, gaze unwavering.

“Really?” Dan hardly muttered. He knew what was coming, but that didn’t ruin the surprise of Phil Gallaway’s lips pressed against his own, Phil’s hands gently cupping his face. Slightly cracked lips collided, and the world slipped away, if only for a second, before it came crashing back as Phil pulled away gently.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” was all Dan could say, a soft smile on his lips.

“Too long,” and the world stopped again and again and again, Phil peppering his mouth with long-awaited kisses.

“Same,” Dan breathed as he joined in, embracing Phil while returning those same kisses.

“How did you know?” Dan uttered as Phil ran his hands through Dan’s hair.

“You ask too many questions, Dan,” Phil chuckled, placing a kiss on Dan’s forehead. It quickly turned, however, as Phil started unbuttoning his own shirt before placing his hands on Dan’s shirt. “If you want…” Dan only had to quickly nod before Phil literally ripped the buttons off his shirt.

“I never thought I’d ever literally be having sex on the beach,” Dan remarked, giggling slightly as Phil unbuttoned his own pants.

“Shhh, just enjoy the moment,” Phil whispered, placing another kiss on Dan’s mouth. The world stopped for them then, the sounds of the ocean slipping away into silence. Time never stopped, though. Their hearts kept pumping, and Needle kept setting as Thread peeked over the skyline. Blue and red blending for just a moment to make a breathtaking magenta sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH! IT’S DONE! Time for the thanks you and what nots.
> 
> A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO SARA from @transdimensional-void (on tumblr) who without I would have never have finished this fic! She is a literal star (and also a great writer in her own regards, you should check her out)
> 
> Also, thank you to @galaxyhowells (on tumblr) who made the most beautiful bit of phanart for the fic.
> 
> ART HERE: http://galaxyhowells.tumblr.com/post/153871861501/he-had-been-the-boy-in-his-purple-coast-dream-for
> 
> A big thanks to the whole @phandombigbang (on tumblr) communutity!
> 
> And finally thank you for reading this! If you have any questions about the series hit up my ask box. 
> 
> If you really enjoyed it please consider nominating it for the @phanficawards (on tumblr) here as I spent half a year writing this and it would mean the world to me. 
> 
> Nominate here: http://phanficawards.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also because this is a series the wolves of the world series WILL RETURN (probably next year)!
> 
>  
> 
> Other cool things to check out relating to the series:  
> A Map of Miloria: http://lestericalphan.tumblr.com/post/153873781293/the-map-of-miloria-the-fictional-place-from-my  
> A Map of the Riverlands: http://lestericalphan.tumblr.com/post/153873782878/the-riverlands-a-fictional-place-from-my-new  
> A Character List: http://lestericalphan.tumblr.com/post/153873788163/character-list-for-the-wolves-of-the-world


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